


vorfreude

by CanIHaveAHug



Category: One Piece
Genre: (I hope), (WE’LL GET THERE, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Child Abuse, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Guilt, I AM SORRY, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I swear), Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Mental Health Issues, Regret, Reunions, Self-Hatred, Suicide Attempt, Tags May Change, an actual dumpsterfire of angst and dumb feelings, inspired by Oda’s ‘alternate!sabo’, tfw when you put two self-sacrificial dumbasses in a room together, which is as horrifying as it sounds!, with a single fire extinguisher of hurt/comfort and me screaming at it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-06
Updated: 2019-01-31
Packaged: 2019-08-19 22:07:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 23,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16543187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CanIHaveAHug/pseuds/CanIHaveAHug
Summary: Vorfreude: (n.) the joyful, intense anticipation that comes from imagining future pleasures..Outlook Sabo is eighteen years old now, and an adept nobleman. Charming, ruthless, manipulative... and everything else his child-self had once sought to escape from becoming.For the sake of his brothers though—for his most treasured bonds—he is willing to sacrifice anything and everything, including his own sense of self.Unfortunately for his plans, Portgas D Ace has a great many things to say about that.OR: Someone who’s lost sight of his heart reunites with a brother and a dream out on the endless sea.





	1. Chapter 1

_The cage closes at eighteen years old._

_Therefore, they promised each other that that they would each set sail at seventeen._

_And they promised that no matter where fate took them, what the ocean asked of them, what different ships they sailed on-_

_They would be brothers, and they would be free._

.

.

It’s a quarter to seven.

He smooths his hair down with a hand that doesn’t shake. Tugs the silk cravat at his neck, straightens the suit jacket framing his shoulders and limbs. Everything in this fabric is sharp angles and clean lines. Proper.

As a good noble-born should be.

His reflection draws up a smile. It’s charming, amiable. Friendly, and dependable.

An infinitesimal shift, and it’s temptation. Sinful, alluring. Promise, and a risk.

A thick pull, and it’s a smirk. Cat-like, controlled. A threat, but also not, because that would mean acknowledging the receiving party as one worth giving it to.

A few more twists, turns, tilts.

(He doesn’t bother with practicing the last one in this little routine of his. The one that’s sad, sympathetic. The one that speaks of weakness, willingly exposed, in the camaraderie of shared pain.

No one needs to see him weak today.

Least of all himself.)

Finally, a release.

The expression falls away, like a heavy curtain over the stage, and Sabo works his jaw, loosening it with closed eyes. He breathes in. Out.

An early evening breeze meanders through the open window, rustling the curtains, tussling his golden locks. Even up here in High Town, walls and ways away from port, Sabo smells the snatch of salt it carries, breathes in the soft caress of sunlight and seaspray.

His lungs constrict. It feels wrong.

Decisively, Sabo strides over to the window and pulls it shut.

Now the air feels stale. Dead with the too-sweet rot of aged flowers—gifted by a delusional sweetheart and wilting on his desk—and polluted with the remnants of his father’s cologne when he comes to rant.

It’s familiar. Goes down his throat easier, somehow, though once upon a time it was the opposite.

But that was eight years ago. The past. Sabo barely misses it.

(Lie. He aches for it. Wants and wants for it more than anything in the world.

No, he doesn’t remember. Or what he does, surely was a bastardization of the truth, children’s memories twisted and deformed into a naive, romanticized ideal by the darkest, most desperate years of his imprisonment.

That sheer joy, the innocent euphorias… it was unnatural. Impossible. He could never have been so happy. Never.

But in comparison to everything he knows now, it was the happiest he’s ever been.

And so he wants. And wants. Even if he’ll never, _ever_ allow himself to take.)

Sabo steps away from the window before he can spiral too deep into his thoughts.

Twelve minutes to seven now.

He flickers his haki lazily, senses a presence, and opens his doors just before the servant can knock.

“My father sent you?” he guesses, ignoring how the maid startles at his sudden appearance, fist jumping back to her apron with a squeak.

Normally he wouldn’t bother asking. He hates wasting words, and if a servant was sent up to bother him, it’s almost always his father’s fault, and from there he can figure out why before the servant ever opens their mouth.

But given what happened this morning… he’s less sure.

“Erm… no, sire,” the maid replies nervously, twisting her hands in her apron. She’s a young one, Sabo notes, and marginally pretty. A few months new to the household staff, if he recalls correctly. What was her name again--Bell? Bianca? His mother liked to mock her stutter. “Master Stelly would- would like to see you. In his room, sire. Before the party begins.”

His expression doesn’t change but inside, Sabo rages.

Of course. What an arrogant git, thinking he has the power to _summon Sabo_ like a damnable dog just because he’s _finally_ got something to hold over the Sabo’s head.

It’s almost pitiable, given the fool never had any acuity for blackmail. But fine. He’ll play this game.

He’ll win, anyway.

#### .

Sabo doesn’t bother knocking. After dismissing the maid, he’d strode through the halls and barged straight into his adoptive brother’s room with a loud _bang!_ bouncing off the doors.

He takes an immense pleasure in how Stelly jumps like a startled deer at his entrance, already losing control of the game he’d started as he shoots Sabo a withering glare. “You could’ve waited outside!” the younger yaps irritably.

Sabo hums, registering the servant who appeared to have been pouring a quick cup of tea for his adoptive brother—as well as himself, going by the steaming second cup—and now stood awkwardly to the side with the pot still in hand. Sabo seats himself at the table like it’s his own, not waiting for an invitation and smiles innocently. “Well, you did ask to see me while we’re on a bit of a tight schedule, silly _otouto.”_ He points at Stelly’s servant and then makes a dismissive gesture with a wave of his fingers. “Leave us.”

When the servant bows obediently and makes to leave, Sabo can tell the split-second Stelly senses his blunder in allowing Sabo to make the first move and splutters, “oi, wait a minute!”

The servant stops. Looks back, awaiting orders. Sabo raises an eyebrow in what could be considered an offensive imitation of curiosity.

Stelly flounders. Drops back in his seat and growls, eyes averted resentfully, “close the door on your way out.”

Sabo doesn’t hide his smile, and takes a sip of his tea.

As the door clicks shut, Sabo decides to show a little mercy and waits for Stelly to draw himself up again, watching him with amusement as the younger boy reconfigures his approach.

“So you- um.” Stelly already cuts himself off. Such a poor start, Sabo laughs under his breath. Stelly flusters at his laughter, straightening as though to give off the impression of confidence. It’s more like inflated cockiness—which any idiot can see through as the shallowest disguise for insecurity, though Sabo’s certain that Stelly doesn’t know the difference. But eventually- “I’m sure you understand why I brought you here,” the younger son sniffs.

The pathetic attempt at haughtiness is the only thing that makes it easier for Sabo to restrain from grinding his teeth from the phrasing, and the elder nods indulgently.

He sets down the tea cup with a gentle _clink._ Sits back, crosses his ankles, and says, flippantly, “You want to threaten me with my suicide attempt this morning.”

It’s not a question, nor a guess. The heir of a well-off noble family sticking a gun in his mouth makes for valuable gossip material after all, and not even a fool like Stelly could miss that.

(Though it goes without saying: the Sabo of _this morning,_ who’d awoken dead-eyed and desperate to escape his own skin, would be heartily ignored in this assessment.

It was only a temporary lapse in judgement, after all. Like the first time.

It means nothing.)

Stelly falters, clearly not knowing what to make of Sabo’s blasé tone.

Taking hold of the verbal momentum, Sabo carries on, putting a touch of arrogant indifference in his shoulders as he leans back in his chair. “You’re going to tell father that I’m, what, unstable? Undependable? Unworthy of being heir?”

“Not just Father!” Stelly says, clearly scrambling. Sabo isn’t impressed, and Stelly hisses like an alleycat. “You know how many, and how _important_ the guests tonight are! You may pretend not to care about your reputation, but you should know better than _any_ of us what’ll happen if the family’s status tanks because of _you!_ ”

Unblinkingly, Sabo tilts his head, regarding the other boy with a placid boredom. A few years ago that exact same statement, with that exact same sneer and exact same note of glee, would’ve made his stomach clench tight and his blood run cold with fear.

But by now the fear is an old one, and one he gained an ironclad control over a long, long time ago.

Now he hears it, and rather than afraid, he’s just… very annoyed that anyone believes he can still be so easily manipulated.

(And perhaps… a _bit_ angry… that there’s still someone threatening the only two lives that matter to him.)

Slowly, the elder son chuckles. “And what if it tanks because of you, Stelly?”

The younger boy blinks. “What?”

“What _if,_ it tanks because of _you?”_ he repeats, expression far too pleasant. “What if it turns out that _you,_ the insatiably _jealous_ second son, are the reason that _a-a-all_ of the Outlook family’s dirty secrets come to light?”

For a moment, Stelly simply continues to look utterly perplexed, uncomprehending of what Sabo’s threatened him with, but Sabo is patient. He sits back, he waits, and then…

Stelly blanches. “You… you wouldn’t dare...!”

Sabo almost laughs. Such a poor, stupid boy, he can’t help but think.

And yet he still smiles. “Don’t you remember our lessons with father, _otouto?”_ he chides. “The most effective way to ruin the spread of information is to bombard the mess with a lot more. Whether they’re true or not.” And then, wryly, just because he can- “Though I suppose that advice isn’t particularly helpful to the perpetually ignorant like you, hm?”

Stelly scowls, the rage in his eyes like a measly, sputtering candle light. “You-! You just-! To hell with you! You’re just a _rat_!”

“A ‘rat?’” Sabo thinks he may be more offended by the lackluster response than the actual insult. “That’s the best you can manage to come up with?”

“A _street_ rat!”

“Well now. That’s just rude,” he deadpans, reaching for his tea again. His slides his eyes away from Stelly lazily, every miniscule motion exuding an arrogant dismissal that he knows for a fact frustrates the younger like little else does.

“Why, because it’s true?!” Stelly snarls, leaning forward over the table in that subconscious way people do when they want to use physical proximity to demand attention, practically spitting sparks all the while. Sabo isn’t intimidated in the slightest. “You may have fooled father and mother, but you can’t fool me! You’re still just a foul, dumpster-diving rat peasant from Grey Terminal, and that’ll _never change!”_

And this, this is what finally gives Sabo pause. What makes his stomach lurch, what finally _bites._

And he goes very, very cold inside.

In a single, sinuous movement, Sabo rises from his seat and pulls his gloves out of his pocket. “A riveting assessment, Stelly,” he drawls, flexing his fingers as the leather fixes over his palm. “If only because it pisses me off.”

Then, before the other can say anything in response- “You were supposed to introduce yourself to Lady von Wund tonight, no?”

The confusion that falls over Stelly at those words is almost palpable, bringing his growling to a bewildered halt.

Lady von Wund is a distant relation to the royal family—the intended stepping stone into the next tier of nobility, and an expected guest at the dinner party tonight. According to father, she would be their biggest chance at endearing themselves to the royals, and he had emphasized the importance of making a good impression and ensuring she remembered them favorably.

Because Stelly had seemed so adorably determined to take up that responsibility, Sabo had decided to let the poor fool have at it. He knew the other would fail, anyway; Stelly’s “charm” is too transparent by half, and if (when) attempted contact between them falls apart, Sabo had every intention of picking it back up for himself.

Still, in the name of benevolence, he decided he’d grant poor, silly Stelly the first shot.

He’s feeling far less benevolent now.

Sabo reaches down, and plucks Stelly’s tea cup from it’s saucer before the other can react, weighing it in his hand. It’s half-full, and the tea is lukewarm, judging by its lack of steam. He sighs, one more time, entirely insincere. “It’s a shame then, that you are too… _indisposed_ , to come down.”

Fear flickers in Stelly’s eyes. “What are you-?”

Without another word, Sabo clenches a hand in his adoptive brother’s hair and then slams the porcelain cup straight into the younger’s face, muffling both the scream and shatter beneath his gloved palm. He keeps a firm grip even as Stelly struggles, grinding the shards into the nose and cheeks and lips.

A moment later, he throws the bleeding, blubbering boy onto the ground, utterly dispassionate. He clasps his hands behind his back, and watches in faint amusement as his victim shuffles away from him on his elbows.

“You- you _savage!_ Barbarian! You’re crazy!” Stelly screams, streams of blood mixing with leys of tears and dripping tea.

The smile Sabo brings to his face then is, he admits, quite savage. “Says the desperate spare,” he taunts.

Stelly flinches. “How- how dare you-?!”

In a whisper of movement, Sabo presses one booted foot to the fallen boy’s shoulder, forcing his victim’s back to the ground and his elbows out from under him with a controlled shift of weight. He takes a visceral pleasure in how Stelly twitches fearfully under his gaze, ugly snot leaking from his nose like leafy gunk down a roof gutter.

He cooes, “What a mess you are, _otouto._ Hardly in a state to meet a royal, hm?”

“G-get off me!” Stelly stammers, shoving with desperate futility against Sabo’s ankle.

“I don’t think so,” he smirks mirthfully.

His head is rushing with something too high, too elated to be quite sane, but… it’s _today._ It’s _that day,_ and he _doesn’t care._

He’s felt unwelcome in his own body since he woke up this morning, like a spirit trapped somewhere it doesn’t belong, and this ounce of _control_ anchors him better than anything else.

(lie.)

“I’m sure you thinking-” Sabo muses, tilting his head at the boy below him playfully, “that you’re going to tell father about this.” He doesn’t let himself shake. “That aside from being a suicidal stain on the family’s honor, underneath my pretty manners I’m still a violent wildchild pinched out of the slums.”

(His chest twists so painfully he sees double for a second.

 _If only,_ it laughs.)

His smile tightens. “But don’t bother. Remember, Stelly:

“I am Outlook’s _blood_ son, his _true_ heir… _You_ are simply an investment. Don’t pretend you’re worth anything more.”

And with that, he steps off, turns on his heel, and sweeps out of the room.

He shuts the door behind him with a neat snap, heart racing with an emotion he can’t quite name, beating raggedly with the echo of ‘ _I’m his blood son, I’m his blood son, I’mhisbloodson...’_

-and suddenly something in him curls up and cries.

I’m his blood son, he remembers with horrible clarity, staring down at his ruined gloves, its little tears and dark stains between the fingers. _His_ heir.

Sabo closes his eyes.

 **_They_ ** _would never accept you now._

He’s known that. Mostly. Understood, with every day that passed with rot reaching deeper into his soul, that he would become something… unfamiliar, in the end.

It’s just… all of a sudden, that fact feels so much… realer.

(Lapsing, lapsing- he needs a gun in his hand, cold steel on his tongue, a bullet buried in his-

 _Fuck,_ **_stop that_ ** _.)_

It’s… probably for the best that he’ll never see _them_ ever again, he thinks emptily.

Abruptly, he senses a servant coming in his direction, so he drops the no doubt questionable grimace frozen on his face. He can’t have anyone seeing him vulnerable, and he’d slipped up enough times today.

After a moment to recompose himself, he waves the man over.

“My brother had a minor accident,” he explains to the servant, turning sheepish and charmingly young on command as he rubs his neck in consternation. “Tripped while he was holding a tea cup and fell right onto the glass. It practically ripped his face to shreds, the poor chap. Would you be a gal, and go get a doctor for him?” He flashes a winsome grin. “Discreetly, of course. We wouldn’t want this little mishap to alarm the guests after all.”

The servant flushes at Sabo’s smile, nodding quickly before turning to follow his orders.

Outlook Sabo checks his pocket watch.

Two minutes to seven.

Probably best he gets going; he needs to get some new gloves first of all… then he needs to inform his father that the adoptive son won’t be making it to the dinner party, since even Stelly would rather take the disgrace of absence than the disgrace of his appearance and Outlook’s wrath.  

He’s heading towards the staircase where soft voices and music is drifting up from the ground floor when in the corner of his eye, he spies the servant he’d just spoken to pausing at the end of the hall.

When he turns around, the servant offers the heir a shy grin of his own and bows. “Ah, I just wanted to say:

“Happy eighteenth birthday, Master Sabo. The house staff offers their congratulations on your official christening into noble manhood!”

#### .

.

_The cage closed at eighteen years old._

_It was a cage that one brother entered freely, to soothe the monster that would have clipped the other two’s wings._

_And in this cage, he loathed, he learned, and he created a freedom of his own definition._

_A delusion so enticing, so consuming, it turned him away from the sea._

_But beyond the horizon, where the sun kisses the water, where freedom flies true, another brother longs to welcome him home._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tbh, don't ever expect an update this quick again. i am a terribly inconsistent being, in nearly every aspect of my life, so lo siento. :(  
> in other news, ACE! Enjoy! :D

_Ace, Luffy-_

_It’s been a while, hasn’t it? I hope you two are alright. I really miss you guys._

_I’m writing after all this time to let you know that I’m leaving Dawn Island soon. In fact, by the time you get this letter, I’ll definitely be gone already. It’s a bit earlier than we initially agreed to set out I’m sorry to say, but I hope you’ll understand. High Town is sucking the life out of me, and I have to get out of here before it’s too late._

_Don’t do anything stupid like try to follow me though!! You guys need to get way stronger, especially you, Luffy!_

_Although… I’m sure you’ve already gotten plenty stronger in the past few years. I wish I could’ve seen it._

_I never got the chance to say this, but I’m sorry for leaving you two behind, both the first time and this time. I’m sorry for not saying goodbye properly. You deserve better._

_Given that… I know I don’t have the right to ask anything of you, but here I go anyway: live your life without regrets. If you ever leave behind a decision you’ll wish you hadn’t made, it’ll shackle you forever. Believe me, I would know. These past few years without you guys have been a hell I regret every second of._

_Not that I’ll ever regret protecting you from my dad, but still. I wish things could have been different._

_You two are my greatest treasures, and your freedom means everything to me. So once you’re pirates, be true to yourselves and don’t let anything hold you back, okay? Not even yourselves._

_-Sabo_

#### .

.

Ace rouses with a soft sneeze, nose tickled by the coarse scent of fresh brine and damp wood. The familiar sound of faint creaking and gentle frothing from the rolling sea below register to his senses next, and as he opens his eyes to a cloudless night sky, he realizes he must’ve fallen asleep on the Moby Dick’s rear balcony again.

For a moment, the man does nothing but sigh contentedly as wild ocean winds play with his raven hair, still heavy with the sleepy sense of peace that the ocean’s presence had instilled in him. A beat later though, the soft crackle of paper whipping in the air brings his attention to an unnoticed object held loosely between his fingers.

Upon catching sight of it, Ace inhales sharply before tightening his grip in a half-panic and drawing the paper towards his chest protectively, as though fearing the wind would whisk it away in the next second if he hadn’t.

Thankfully, it does not, and Ace fixes his grip again before cautiously holding it out in front of him.

 _Right_. Sabo’s letter. Ace had been reading it again, before he’d apparently conked out.

He can’t remember why he’d pulled it out again after all this time. He knew every word already, having practically memorized them in the first few months after first receiving it all those years ago. And it wasn’t like reading it for the billionth time was going to help him divine some hidden message in there.

Ace chews on the inside of his lip briefly, before folding the letter back up and tucking it into his pocket. The soft sound of his sigh melts into the lazy yawns of the evening breeze, and he rests his head back on the wall as a small knot makes itself known in his chest.

He hadn’t seen his brother in… hell, it must be nine, ten years now? He misses Sabo, with an ache that no amount of time could ease.

But at the same time, he worries a little bit. Years ago, he’d been torn by his doubts in whether or not to leave his brother to his life in High Town, only to have them viciously vindicated with guilt by Sabo’s personal admission that High Town was _sucking_ the _life_ out of him.

His only consolation then had been that Sabo had escaped. Sabo didn’t come back to them—which hurt to think about sometimes—but he’d reached the sea, and he was forging his own path as a free man, just as they’d all dreamed of doing since they were little squirts.

This knowledge had anchored Ace, and whenever he’d felt sullen at Sabo’s absence, he’d remind himself that his brother was getting stronger and stronger and having great adventures somewhere, and then he’d resolve to be strong enough to match all his brother’s hard-earned experience when they met again.

Yet, once Ace had gone out to sea, he didn’t hear a word about Sabo anywhere.

Granted, he hadn’t searched… too hard. They’d known from the beginning that they had different goals, different paths. Sabo had wanted to write a book about everything. Luffy wanted to be Pirate King. Ace wanted to make his mark on the world.

He wanted to see Sabo, sure, but he wanted to fulfill his own dreams in the meantime. Sabo would have understood, he was sure of it.

But a year or two later of piracy and roaming the sea, and he’s still heard nothing.

And he won’t believe it; he _doesn’t_ , still. But recently he’s… had to _consider…_ that Sabo may have already died. That a _kid_ , inexperienced and alone, wouldn’t have made it far out of East Blue—if even that.

He wants to have faith in his brother’s strength, but the thought has been eating at him for weeks now. Sabo would’ve barely been thirteen when he left, and that’s three years without the training environment Ace and Luffy had had. Not to mention, it would explain the utter lack of contact after he’d left…

Ace’s lips pull taut and he shakes the thought away viciously. He can’t think like that. Hadn’t he been the one to tell Luffy? He shouldn’t assume Sabo is dead just because he’s not here.

(And really, he just doesn’t want to think about the possibility that he hadn’t been there for his brother _again_. That he’d left his brother, his best friend, to die all alone, and he hadn’t even known it.

Sabo would probably kick his ass for thinking like that.)

Ace rises from his slump on the floor, relishing the cool night air against his skin as he stretches his whole body awake, arms high and heels lifted.

Then as he settles back properly, his eye catches on something glittering in the distance.

 _A ship?_ Ace wonders, squinting over the balcony railing. Without the help of a telescope, it certainly looked like it.

His heart begins to race, a wolfish smile breaking out over his face. He bolts up to the main deck, where he finds a few of his crewmates have caught sight of the ship as well. This late at night, it’s mostly a skeleton crew, but there are late-night loiterers around too, most of whom Ace recognizes easily.

“Doesn’t look like a pirate ship,” he hears Thatch telling the others, eyes peering through a spyglass.

Ace lets out a disappointed groan, wandering up beside the pompadoured redhead at the railing. “So no fight then?”

Thatch gives him an amused look, lowering the spyglass to his side. “Hey now, I didn’t say _that.._. Though you’ve been real eager for a fight these days, haven’t you?”

“What can I say? It’s been a while,” Ace shrugs, leaning his arms against the railing plaintively.

Someone cuffs him on the back of his head, eliciting a yelp and scowl at the offender. “Then go take a mission,” Izo admonishes lightly, plucking the proffered spyglass from Thatch’s hand. “Instead of buzzing around here and driving us all mad.”

Ace narrows his eyes, offended. “I do _not_ ‘buzz around.’”

And to that, Thatch and Izo merely exchange meaningful looks over his head that Ace, as one of the youngest crewmates, _very much_ did not appreciate because he knows that look okay? He shared it with Sabo all the time-

Ace turns away and scowls into the darkness. “Okay, fine, I’ve been a bit antsy. Whatever.”

Izo raises an elegant eyebrow. “Hounding a spar out of nearly everyone on this boat in a record two weeks and then going on a prank spree before going back to spars is ‘a _bit_ antsy?’”

“You don’t need to put it like _that,”_ Ace grumbles.

Warm, rumbling laughter resounds from behind the trio, and Ace’s mood is already beginning to lift as he turns to see their father approaching them with a fond glimmer in his eye. “Prettier words won’t make it less true, son. The whole medical division will attest to that.”

 _Aaaand_ Ace’s mood drops back down instantly. “Aww, Oyaji, not you too!”

The rest of the crew bursts into raucous laughter, and Ace, outnumbered as he unfortunately is, can only glare at his brothers mutinously, before his eyes snap to the flaming blue shape cutting through the black, starlit sky.

Soon enough, there’s a familiar click of talons barely scratching wood as the Phoenix lands on the deck, followed by a flash of cerulean flames. They dissipate in seconds to reveal a bored-looking blond man who immediately raises an eyebrow at the core of the laughing cluster.

“Are we making fun of Ace, yoi?” Marco asks casually, tilting his head like he doesn’t already know the answer, that damn traitor.

Thatch slings an arm around Ace’s shoulders before the younger can stop him. “Absolutely! You want in?”

“I’ll kill you,” Ace hisses.

Marco waves a hand. “Maybe later, yoi.” Ignoring his brothers’ slowly escalating tussle wherein Ace tries to make good on his declaration and Thatch laughingly defies him, Marco turns to their captain.

“It’s just a merchant ship, as far as I can tell,” Marco reports, shoulders relaxed, which is indication enough of his thoughts. “Pretty large, yoi- but it doesn’t seem to have a lot of guards, so I doubt whatever cargo it’s carrying is very valuable.”

“Not worth a raid then?” Oyaji hums.

Marco shrugs. “Not unless we’re just looking to vent a bit, yoi.”

And oh _no,_ that wasn’t pointed _at all._

Ace only pauses in putting Thatch into a headlock in order to throw up his middle finger at the blond. Unfortunately, he finds an elbow knocking into his chin before he can see Marco’s smug grin in return, as Thatch seizes advantage of Ace’s distraction and jabs his way out of the younger’s hold.

Over the ensuing laughter of his brothers, the guffawing of his father, and the puffing of his own breath in the struggle, it’s a wonder that Ace catches the curious noise Izo makes before finally lowering the spyglass.

“Are you sure about that cargo it’s carrying, Marco?” the cross-dresser asks, sounding somewhat dubious as he turns from the railing. “Outlook Company is well-known for shipping rather high-end goods, isn’t it?”

For a moment the name doesn’t register. It’s just background noise, a little blip that generalizes all companies, not important at all.

Then recognition strikes in an instant, and Ace stiffens. “Outlook?” he asks sharply.

Izo blinks, seeming startled by the acerbic shadow he sensed behind Ace’s incredulity, and out of the corner of his eye, Ace can see Marco and Oyaji giving him similarly sharp looks. Even Thatch loosens his grip, allowing Ace to stand up properly, and all together, the lower-ranked crewmates start catching onto the mood as well.

Their obvious curiosity makes Ace itch a bit, hunching up his shoulders and kicking himself for allowing himself to sound so affected, but there was nothing to be done about it now so he just continues staring at his crewmate, hands twitching at his sides.

After a moment, Izo simply tosses him the spyglass. “I believe so,” he says with a shrug, “Though I admit, I can’t say I accurately know of _every_ company out there.”

Ace takes the disclaimer for what it is and holds the spyglass to his eye, peering into the gloomy distance. It’s not difficult to find the Goa Kingdom emblem decorating the flags, nor the Outlook Shipping Company logo on various surfaces of the other boat. He even thinks he can sort of make out the logo sewed onto the uniforms of some of the sailors coming onto deck, though given the general darkness and distance, he’s probably imagining that.

However, he does not miss the top-hatted noble he sees waltz up to the merchant ship’s railing, snapping at the sailors with wide, panic-filled gesticulations, and confirming with his simple presence whose ship that was.

Outlook III—Sabo’s blood father, and otherwise known in Ace’s head as Sabo’s greatest tormentor—had some gray hairs that were new, but was still, irregardless, just as ugly a moustached bastard as the last time Ace had seen him and lost a brother for it.

Something boils beneath Ace’s skin as he lowers the spyglass, face blank.

He doesn’t know what Outlook’s ships are doing here in the New World. The company only does business in East Blue, last he’d heard.

He _never_ would have expected to come across the fucker _himself_ , traversing the open seas like he had any right-!

 _High Town is sucking the life out of me,_ Ace suddenly hears Sabo saying in his ear, despite only knowing the words from a letter. _I have to get out of here before it’s too late._

Ace had never gone after Outlook with the driven intent of vengeance. Because Sabo had gotten away. Sabo had taken his _own_ sort of vengeance through simple rebellion, running away and taking with him every chance of the nobleman getting what he wanted. There was no need for Ace to act, to trouble himself with the effort of going after a piece of garbage like that when he had more important things to handle like raising Luffy or following his dreams.

There was nothing stopping him either; he’d just never had the chance.

And now he does.

Wordlessly, he hands the spyglass back to his crewmate before turning around and facing his father. “Oyaji,” he says flatly, pulling his hat onto his head with flames blazing within his blood. He raises his head just enough for the man to see his expression, and then he smiles. “I think I’m gonna go vent a bit.”

It’s a rather unpleasant smile. But he knows Oyaji understands.

Oyaji only looks at him for a moment, solemn and perceptive, before rumbling with laughter. “Go then. And have fun, my son.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ^_^'''

Sabo would be a fool to not expect to run into pirates in the New World. _Shishou_ used to tell him stories aplenty about its treacherous seas, the menaces masquerading in mortal forms and how unspeakably dangerous it was to tread their waters without the proper connections or preparations.

In light of that, Sabo _had_ made connections, he _had_ made preparations. And in conjunction with his father’s efforts, they managed to expand their company safely into Grand Line territories- first through Paradise islands, Calm Belt islands, and now into the New World.

And although Sabo didn’t travel often himself, he’d made enough voyages through Paradise to gain experience in both dealing with, and avoiding, most pirate crews and sea-kings and slavers without much trouble. Unbeknownst to himself though, this made him complacent; and like the arrogant fool he usually only _pretended_ to be, he entered the New World for the first time expecting to deal with the same level of trouble as Paradise.

An attack by the notorious Whitebeard Pirates was definitely not one of them.

Sabo curses himself and his naivety as the floor shudders violently beneath his feet, sending him stumbling into the wall as the ship’s tortured moans rumble through the wooden panels. He can feel the heat too, the scorching flames that are devouring this ship from the bottom side up and all the people in it.

The blond clenches his teeth, sweat gathering uncomfortably at his brows and dripping down his face, and he flicks on his haki again.

He can sense the guards he’d hired falling in droves. There, and then either gone or barely flickering.

It’s a stark contrast to the one bright-burning, powerful constant, radiating a corona of rage and tearing through the ship with firestorms in his wake.

Sabo hadn’t seen him yet, this devil-fruit user who was rampaging his ship, but he didn’t doubt the intruder belonged to the Whitebeards. The captain had informed him and his father of a possible confrontation the minute the Yonko’s ship had come into view on the horizon, and he could think of no other explanation for the one, unfamiliar haki presence.

He’d think it humiliating to be so thoroughly crushed by a single attacker, but he doesn’t have a pirate’s pride so the only thing he feels is utter frustration that he was probably going to die, and for _absolutely nothing_ but a stranger’s whims.

Then he stiffens, as something else flickers into range of his haki. _Several_ somethings. Some _ones_. Many of them just as, if not even _more_ , frighteningly powerful as the one charging through the ship now like a cannonball through morning mist.

_The other Whitebeards…_

“Mister Sabo!”

Sabo’s head whips up, and he straightens just in time to catch the thirteen year old cabin boy barreling into his chest.

“Mister Sabo, Mister Sabo!” The boy bawls, endless tears running down his ruddy cheeks. Sabo grunts as he feels Cole’s arms tighten around his waist, and he has to fight the urge to shove the child off when he knows _he’s_ the one who’d deliberately engendered the poor orphan boy’s trust and fondness. “Mister Sabo, he got the captain!” Cole wails, the words almost incomprehensible between the sobs, “The pirate-guy g-got the captain, and Captain told me the hull’s crack’d, and- and- we gotta get outta here, Mister Sabo, c’mon, c’mon-!”

But Sabo can’t, not yet. He digs his feet in as Cole tries to pull him down the corridor, and when the boy throws him a wide-eyed, horribly bewildered look, Sabo curses himself ten times over yet again for leaving _it_ in his quarters.

“Cole, get to the lifeboats,” he says, rolling the command out on a soothing tongue, coaxing but firm. “I’ll meet you there. Soon.”

“Where’re you going?” the child asks, clinging to his sleeve.

Sabo shakes his head. “There’s no time to explain, you need to go, now!”

“I’ll go with you!” and Cole looks so earnest, so determined, so _loyal-_

He rips his arm away with a snarl, “Cole, that was an _order,_ you _will-!”_

“I can help!”

“Dammit, _Cole-!”_

Then his haki screams a warning.

_Projectile blast from the right level to hip fast fast INCOMING_

_“DOWN!”_

Instinct reigns, and Sabo lunges forward, curling a hand around the back of Cole’s head and tackling him to the ground just as the hallway behind him explodes.

Sabo’s ears ring as he feels splinters flying into his back, the rush of cool night air filling the torn-open corridor. Even as he’s turning around though, hot, gritty smoke is pushing up from below to replace it, prowling in hungry plumes towards the two of them.

There’s a heavy _thump_ and a tall shadow appearing in the smoke before Sabo can even react, and a chuckle echoes through the air.

“You’ve got some mighty fine reflexes to have dodged that,” the figure offers. His impressed inflection could almost be considered genuine, if not for the touch of amusement.

A streak of rage flashes through Sabo, and he opens his mouth to make what would probably be an unwisely scathing retort when he feels a tremble at his back and a hand clenching at his coat. _Cole._

Sabo scrambles to his feet, dragging the cabin boy up with him and making sure to keep himself between the boy and the pirate. “Move!”

But in a second his haki keens again, and Sabo envelopes Cole’s smaller figure with his own, throwing the two of them into the wall. A pillar of fire blazes past their open side, desert-like heat billowing over them, and Sabo feels the sweat on the left side of his face turn to steam and his mouth go dry with a ragged pant. “F-fuck…”

A too close creak, and Sabo whips around, keeping Cole behind him.

The pirate emerges from the smoke with a relaxed, casual stride, unholy power rolling across his bare skin and flickering off his broad shoulders like storm clouds and lightning in the sky, and he steps through the raging flames as easily as one steps through sunny grass fields with a large dagger hanging at his hip.

Somehow the dagger—of all things—seems like the _least_ threatening thing about the pirate, and despite himself, Sabo can’t help but watch him with a bit of awe. _So this is the power of a New World pirate,_ he thinks, mouth dry.

( _The power his brothers would have one day,_ something small in him pipes up with glee.)

The pirate tips up the brim of his orange hat with a single, smoking thumb, unveiling a mockingly easy smile and devilish intent. Sabo feels an odd shiver, seeing something so very _familiar_ in the expression, before he pushes Cole further behind him, knowing that even if he was entirely outmatched, he could still make sure Cole escaped.

Then abruptly, the pirate’s expression falls. Confusion replaces amusement, and that by shock, before settling on something like disapproval.

“That’s a _kid_ ,” the pirate says, almost sounding accusative.

 _Like you care?_ Sabo wanted to drawl in return.

And yet...

 _Whitebeard pirates aren’t your run-of-the-mill scoundrels, and I don’t just mean in concern of skill,_ he remembers _Shishou_ telling him, years ago. _They consider themselves brothers, and unlike most pirates, they treasure their_ **_bonds_ ** _above anything else._ **_No one_ ** _respects family and brotherhood like the Whitebeards do._

_And when they like what they see… you could almost call them benevolent._

Sabo licks his chapped lips, and tastes ash in the air. “He’s only thirteen,” he rasps, cautious, testing the waters.

The pirate seems grow incensed, disgusted with Sabo, but that only further convinces him that this was the best route.

“And why the hell is a thirteen-year old _kid_ sailing the New World?” the pirate demands.

Sabo hides his relief. _Good. I can use this._

On the outside he hardens his eyes, gives a look of defensiveness; it’s not that hard when it’s coming from what’s mostly the truth.

“We were returning him to his family,” Sabo lies, hiding Cole’s face behind his arm so the boy wouldn’t give anything away. “His brothers are waiting for him.”

The pirate flinches, just the slightest bit, and Sabo knows he’s struck well. Smothering the grin rising to his face, he decides to take a risk and hit straight-on. “Please,” he says, threading a note of desperation low in his throat, “you’re a Whitebeard pirate, aren’t you? Surely you understand… Spare him, _please._ ”

The pirate frowns, silent but thoughtful, as flames continue to crackle loudly and lick up his legs like eager dogs crowding their master.

Then for some reason, as Sabo watches the man’s face, as he watches for tells in those narrowed silver eyes, dark freckled cheeks, raven hair curling at the chin-

He feels something _wrench_ in his gut. He feels a horrible, breath-taking _hurt_ and a violent tremor of _fear,_ and-

(he slams the door shut on recognition, on realization, before it can slip even a nail through the crack)

-his throat feels rough with ash and smoke as the pirate raises his eyes again.

“Are there many others here like him?” the pirate asks, nodding at Cole.

Sabo feels Cole burrowing into his back, and he reaches back, placing a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Would a number change anything?” he shoots back, deflecting, and he hopes the tinge of challenge he’d added was not a mistake.

The pirate’s expression tightens. Something crashes in the distance, and the ship’s mourning groan echoes its agony.

(The door trembles, demanding entrance)

“I’m looking for someone,” the pirate says suddenly, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Tell me where he is, and I’ll leave the ship alone.”

Sabo half-laughs. _You already demolished most of it,_ he wants to point out, but now’s not the time for provocation.

Instead he says, “You might have the wrong ship. Or you might’ve already killed him by accident in all this chaos.”

But the pirate snorts in response and shakes his head. “That’d be convenient, but I don’t think so.”

Sabo considers. Then thinks, _to hell with it._ “Who is it?”

“Outlook,” the pirate replies, and Sabo feels more than hears Cole’s tiny gasp against his back. “You guys should probably know him; he owns the company that this ship belongs to.”

 _Well damn,_ Sabo thinks with growing numbness. _This pirate’s got a grudge against_ **_me_** _._

When he’d snatched his father’s seat as Company Director months ago, he’d known he’d have enemies. But to gain one in _specific_ pirates was something he thought wouldn’t come until he had started being more active in areas he deliberately sectioned off for this very matter.

And if he was going to make enemies, he planned on never risking one in _actual Yonko crews,_ and yet. Here he was, apparently.

Sabo licks his lips again. “...You’re going to kill him?”

The pirate shrugs. “Probably.”

A personal grudge then.

Hysteria feels more like rage, and Sabo uses years of hard-earned experience to tamp down on both with a single, steadying breath.

Cole is his responsibility. Sabo wants to live. The pirate wants Sabo dead, but he doesn’t know Sabo’s face. He’ll leave if he gets what he wants, though there’s no guarantee the rest of his crew will do the same. These are the things Sabo focuses on, as he scourges up a pretty lie and a silver scheme in his head in a matter of seconds.

But he never gets the chance to speak.

Because before he can move, there’s a blunt jab at his hip and a shrill cry.

“You stay away from Mister Sabo!” Cole screams, desperately stepping out in front of him with arms outstretched and a fierce—if frightened—look on his face.

Sabo’s heart clenches at the same time it spits. “Cole, you idiot, don’t-!”

_“Sabo?”_

The incredulous voice then is too familiar for Sabo _not_ to look up. His eyes fly towards the pirate’s, and it’s like his very heart stops.

He sees utter shock splayed across a slack-jawed face, naked _hope_ spilling from wide, wide eyes. His world tilts further askew with every shallow breath he takes, long-buried memories rising from their tombs and aligning _just so…_

The nobleman growls under his breath and shakes the distracting thoughts away. Enough. _Enough._

Then something else catches on Sabo’s sixth sense, a familiar presence… and Sabo grins.

“FIRE!” he hears, and he’s already ducking, shoving Cole to the ground with him.

The hallway explodes for a second time, blistering heat raking his cheeks, but this time, Sabo senses the pirate flying out of the ship, thrown back by the force of the explosion. He hears a muffled splash beyond the darkness, a curse, and a trickle of relief runs down his spine.

(not dread. not fear. _relief._ it’s _relief.)_

It’s short-lived. He can sense the Whitebeard pirates drawing near, the plethora of hakis that burn so bright they’re like supernovas, searing his haki sense.

No one will be able to escape if the pirates chase after the lifeboats, Sabo suddenly realizes.

One of Sabo’s security detail appears from the shadows, grim-faced and a smoking bazooka in hand. Roman _-san_ , if he remembers correctly. “Sir,” the soot-covered man nods. “Glad to see you’re alright. My colleagues are already escorting your father back to the lifeboats up on deck. We likely have a short time-frame until the pirate comes back, so let’s-”

Sabo shakes his head decisively, rising to his feet. “No. There’s something I must retrieve from the lower levels first.”

The guard only shows a microsecond of confusion before his face flattens with a weary annoyance that is the staple of logical men perpetually frustrated by prissy noble pickiness.

Sabo sympathized, but he won’t back down from this.

Instead he pushes forward the cabin boy. “Take him and anyone else you find to the lifeboats. I’ll be quick.”

Roman’s eye twitches. “Sir, I must insist-”

“No, Mister Sabo!” Cole gasps, snagging onto Sabo’s wrist. “We can’t just-!”

A flare of impatience, one that burns out the guilt in his stomach, and he peels the child’s hands away like they’re rotted citrus rinds. He doesn’t spare the boy more than a glance, instead piercing Roman with a sharp glare. “Short time-frame, Roman- _san,_ you said it yourself. Get him up there, _now.”_

Roman hesitates.

Sabo snarls. _“NOW.”_

And with that, Roman steels his expression and grabs Cole’s shoulder, steering the boy away. Cole protests, whipping his head back to stare pleadingly at Sabo, but he’s no match for the strength of a man trained to handle all manner of ruffians and criminals. Before long, the two have vanished down the hall and out of sight.

A gentle breeze sweeps motes of ash and smoke into Sabo’s face like a greeting, stinging his nose and orifices, and he winces.

Blinking away the irritation in his eyes, he glances back at the open hole in the wall, where he can see the dark ocean ripple with reflections of fire light, where he senses the Whitebeard pirates’ ship drawing abreast.

Where he knows _that_ pirate had flown out of.

Sabo shakes his head again. He needs to focus.

He has to get his old goggles. And then he’s getting out of here.

(He doesn’t know that pirate. He doesn’t know that pirate. He _doesn’t.)_

#### .

.

~~_Ace, Luffy-_ ~~

_~~It’s been a while, hasn’t it? I hope you haven’t forgotten me! I just wanted~~ _

 

_(Stupid. Selfish. Start over. Of course they didn’t forget you._

_...Right?)_


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tbh i wasn't gonna post this til friday bc im not much a fan of how i ended the second half but honestly.  
> i am just. sick of looking at it.  
> i hope you'll enjoy anyway, i tried my best. :'(  
> in other news nEXT CHAP IS GONNA BE THE SHIT, IM SO PUMPED TO POST IT!!!! YEH!!!

_Sabo-_

_You’re never going to get this, but that's fine. If you’re happy out there, then so am I._ ~~_I know I failed you enough already._ ~~

_Luffy really misses you though. He keeps complaining and saying you were the nicer brother. The bastard. I don’t know how I’m going to handle the next few years of taking care of this brat..._ ~~_It was hard enough dealing with the last few without you._ ~~

_Anyway. I’m planning on setting out at seventeen—like we agreed, you cheater. Let's meet then. A couple of pirates, finally free to the seas._

_Wait for me, Sabo. I’m coming._

_-Ace_

#### .

.

Ace is sinking. Drowning, actually, because he hadn’t had time to hold his breath before falling under and now he’s paralyzed and water is rushing into his mouth and he should really be more worried about that but-

 _Sabo._ Was that him? Was that really his brother?

It wouldn’t make sense. It really wouldn’t. But it _fits._ That dirty blond hair, the round eyes and familiar chin, the dark suit and top hat, the _stupid cravat-!_

Ace chokes again, gurgling, his vision flickering dark, and oh fuck right he’s _drowning-_

Then he feels an arm snake around his waist from behind, and his head lightens disorientingly quick as he’s pulled up up up up-

Ace breaks surface and promptly vomits seawater all over his rescuer.

Through his waterlogged ears, he hears disgusted sputtering. “Argh, dammit Ace, really?”

He doesn’t dignify that with an answer. Can’t, really—his chest still feels too tight, too full, like water balloons are bouncing around his ribcage, and he wouldn’t be able to get a word out even if he tried.

Then there’s bright blue and gold light flaring from above, and every _organ_ sloshes around inside his poor meatsuit as he and his rescuer are lifted into the air. The next thing he knows, his knees are collapsing onto a wooden deck, and someone is thumping his back while a smattering of laughter surrounds him.

“-eal smooth, commander!” “-flew out of there like a your ass was on fire, haha-! wait...” “-not your finest moment, _ne_ , Ace?”

Ace only coughs again, throat sore and chest burning from the rapid expulsion of salt water.

The fog in his thoughts is fading now, his imminent fall to unconsciousness successfully routed. But then his brain latches right back on to _one_ thing, and his head truly begins to spin.

“Alright, alright, back off, yoi,” a voice scolds, right behind his ear. “Would somebody go get one of the nurses already? I think he’s still got water in his lungs, yoi.”

_He’s alive…_

A familiar face enters his periphery, lazily lidded eyes bent in subtle concern, though his mouth turns in a way that speaks of amusement. “I think that’s enough venting for you, yoi.”

 _Or is he?_ Ace doesn’t know. He could be wrong. Misheard, maybe.

Marco’s amusement fades into a frown. “Ace?”

He just… He doesn’t understand. Why was Sabo _there,_ on his _father’s ship_ of all places? What happened to being free on the sea?

 _Where have you been?_ Another part of him wonders, questions once asked in quiet now _burning_ in his mind, _why didn’t you come back? Why didn’t you let us know how you were?_

Someone shakes his shoulder. “Ace? What’s wrong?”

Well, granted, that’s probably unfair. It’s not like Ace has a very good track record of updating Luffy and Makino on his journey either, aside from the sporadic, once-in-a-blue-moon letter. But still, compared to almost a _decade_ of silence?

Was it… _was_ it really him? The confirmation that his brother is alive would be nice.

However, the implications of him traveling on Outlook’s merchant ship are really _not._

A gentle touch on Ace’s head jolts him out of his thoughts, and the raven looks up, only now realizing that he’s trembling. “Son,” Oyaji rumbles, his voice an anchor of comfort amidst the chaos of Ace’s whirling thoughts. “What happened?”

Ace blinks rapidly, looks around.

His crewmates—his brothers—are spread loosely around the deck, eyeing him with a mixture of concern and confusion and quickly fading mirth. Izo is not too far away, clothes dripping and idly squeezing water out of his hair, but closely attentive. Marco is still at his side, his frown even more pronounced with every second of Ace’s continuing silence. Thatch is over by the railing, and with his worry comes a hand on his swords like he’s ready to fight.

Sabo’s- _that_ _blond’s_ face—because he won’t call him Sabo yet, not until he knows for sure—flashes in Ace’s mind, as protective and pugnacious as any Whitebeard pirate when he’d held that pale-haired kid behind him.

The image already threatens to merge with his memory of ten year old Sabo’s face.

Ace jerks to his feet, wobbly but determined to ignore the weariness from his dip into the ocean that still lingers bone-deep. “I need to get back there,” he says earnestly.

Marco frowns, only grabbing his arm to steady him. “Ace, you’re still weak from swallowing all that seawater, yoi. I think dealing with your grudge can wait until-”

“I’m not-!” Ace shakes his head fervently. “Look, this isn’t about a grudge, I swear.”

“Then?” Marco crosses his arms.

“My brother- well, no. I- I _think_ my brother is on that ship.” Seeing the confusion on his crewmates’ faces, Ace barrels on, stumbling over the words with an inelegance that would’ve embarrassed him if he had the mind to worry about such things. “He left our home island years ago, and. And I haven’t seen him or heard from him in-” his head spins “-seven years now? But back on the ship, there was- there was this kid, and he called the guy-”

 _(“Stay away from Mister Sabo!”_ and Ace almost laughs because _‘Mister_ Sabo?’ Really?)

Marco’s eyes soften. “You heard your brother’s name,” the man guesses.

Ace swallows, almost gagging on the overwhelming taste of raw salt in his mouth. “I don’t know,” he says tightly. “I’m not... I can’t... I just don’t know. It wouldn’t make any _sense._ But I _have_ to check.”

Only a single beat of silence follows Ace’s tense declaration, before a low, gravelly laugh rolls over it.

“A brother, huh?” Oyaji muses with a smile. Ace isn’t quite sure what to make of the man’s tone before his captain is nodding. “Well if he’s the man you’re looking for, then he’s welcome aboard here.” A hint of mischief enters his eye. “Especially since that ship of his isn’t quite seaworthy anymore.”

Ace cringes. Practically on cue, something crashes in the distance behind him, and he sees the shadows across the deck grow a smidgen darker before fading back again.

‘Not quite seaworthy’ indeed.

Their father turns to the crew. “Marco, Thatch, go with Ace. Help him find his brother. And Ace…” Oyaji grins. “Don’t fall into the ocean again.”

The crew breaks into cackles and despite Ace’s tension, he can’t help but flush. _“One_ time, Oyaji, I got distracted _one time._ ”

Marco snorts, hopping onto the railing with his shoulders flickering with early phoenix flames. “One time is all they would’ve needed if they wanted to kill you,” Marco chides, but Ace can hear the tender concern underneath, for all that he rolls his eyes. “Don’t let it happen again, yoi.”

“Aw, don’t be a downer, Marco,” laughs Thatch, stepping up beside the man. “We’re going to find Ace’s long-lost brother!”

 _“Maybe_ my brother,” Ace corrects, biting down on the shy glimmer of hope before it can disappoint him. But it’s a persistent thing now that he’s got the idea in his head, and he can’t help how his heart flutters with nerves and anticipation. “Like I said, I’m not sure it’s him.”

Thatch pouts, almost looking affronted. “Oh I see how it is. Suppose I’ll just have to be the optimistic one then.”

“You usually are, yoi,” Marco deadpans. Then in a swirl of light, the Phoenix rises into the air, catching Thatch’s outstretched arms in his talons before swooping towards the collapsing merchant ship without pause.

The sight brings a twitch of a smile to Ace’s face, their utter lack of hesitation sending the warmth of gratefulness suffusing through his chest. It can’t bury the turmoil, the ache of a memory, swirling in his heart, but… The Whitebeard pirates are his family too, and even months after joining, it’s nice to be reminded of that sometimes.

Ace crouches slightly, and with a determined set in his jaw, activates his flames and comets over the water.

#### .

Thatch has always been happy to accept new brothers. Well, broadly speaking, all Whitebeard pirates should be happy to accept new brothers, because their father loves gaining new sons, and what makes their father happy generally makes them happy too.

But Thatch in particular knows a specific joy in finding the bond of brotherhood. In fact, he knows of no greater gift in his life, except perhaps the bond he has with his Oyaji. However, with the joy of finding, he knows the grief of losing, because only the sea decides who lives or dies, and no pirate worth his salt retains the right to beg her of otherwise. But by god, there have been some dear brothers over the years he’d wished he could have back.

That’s why, when he hears that Ace might have possibly, maybe, though not probably, found his missing brother after seven years, Thatch is immediately rearing to go. Honestly, even if Oyaji hadn’t ordered him to go, he would’ve gone anyway.

He doesn’t know Ace’s brother, but he can tell from the metaphorical fire in the freckled man’s gaze how much the other means to him, and Thatch is already looking forward to meeting him for that fact alone.

He hopes the guy isn’t too annoyed they’d burnt down his ship though.

Thatch touches ground first, landing with a roll in one of the few sections of the deck not yet buried in smoke. There’s a bit of a sting in his eyes, sharp and bothersome, but after fighting alongside a fire logia and similarly destruction-prone brothers for so long, the inconveniences of smoke are nothing he’s not used to. He straightens quickly, noting the crippled secondary mast slumped defeatedly against the main.

 _Well that doesn’t look good,_ he muses as he tries to guess how long they’ll have before the thing falls and brings the whole ship under.

Behind him, Marco seems to be of the same general thought, transforming back into his human form and scanning the destruction with a clinical eye. He’s peering down into a gaping hole in the deck that seems to plunge through several floors with a look of mild intrigue and calculation when Ace lands next to them.

“We’ll have to be fast, yoi,” Marco says, nudging the end of a splintered plank with his toe. “Looks like a good chunk of the bottom level is already submerged, and if the sea-kings get drawn in by the disturbance and sink this ship themselves, we’ll never be able find your brother.”

“Yeah, and if the fish don’t do it, _that_ sure will,” Thatch adds, jerking a thumb at the blazing masts behind him. Something flickers in Ace’s eyes, something that looks a bit like guilt.

Well that’s no good, Thatch decides.

“Alright, enough of that face, Ace,” he chuckles, reaching over and rubbing his knuckles into the younger man’s dark hair shamelessly. He accepts the glint of murder in the other’s gaze with grace, because a) it always has been, and always will be adorable, and b) it’s a better look than that insecurity that pops up every now and then. “If you brother’s here, we’ll definitely find him. So!” Thatch claps. “Details: what’s his name, what’s he look like, et cetera?”

Ace’s face twitches, before settling on a soft, bemused grin and huff of a laugh. He opens his mouth to answer-

-and his head bursts into flame, a bullet hole closing up and reforming into the man’s face in a mere moment.

The three pirates turn, annoyed.

Several uniformed guards stand at the door that would lead below deck, armed with guns and swords, and their eyes flicker over the multitude of downed bodies sprawled across the deck with trepidation. There’s a truly pathetic stand-off, as three pirates stare down the dozen trembling soldiers that stand shoulder to shoulder like a wall.

Then a gratingly hysterical voice from behind the soldiers breaks the silence, and Thatch sees Ace’s expression immediately curl into a snarl.

“What are you imbeciles standing around for?!” the stranger shrieks, and his blatantly upper-class accent makes Thatch wrinkle his nose. “Get rid of them!”

Thatch draws his sword, and it’s through a flurry of gunfire and deflecting bullets that he hears Ace’s hurried call before the younger man throws himself into battle.

“Leave the noble alive, I need to ask him something!”

Blinking, Thatch shares a puzzled glance with Marco, who shrugs. _Guess we’re putting the search on hold for a minute then._

It’s not a problem. They can deal with such a small force quickly enough.

They dive right in.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To everyone who'd gotten the notif for chapter 5 earlier this week and found it deleted, I again apologize for misleading you. i have an explanation but for the sake of the story, it's at the end.  
> I won't do it again though, i swear!!

Sabo senses his father’s haki vanish in a single moment. It was a very quick affair, subtle, like blowing out a candle. 

It takes another moment for him to realize what that means. 

The blond halts in his step, standing motionless at the top of a partially collapsed staircase as he searches and strains his haki sense as far as it can go… but there’s nothing. 

His father is just…  _ gone. _

(Dead?) 

It seems impossible. Like the world flipping upside down, and he has to check his surroundings to make sure the stairs aren’t actually falling out from under him. 

Sabo leans heavily against the railing, numbly drawing back his haki like a fisherman pulling up an empty net. He doesn’t weep. He has no reason to grieve the monster who sat at his shoulder every day of his wretched life and carved him into who he is now with silver pens and fine blades.

But he does feel… disturbed, maybe. One of the columns that had held up his reality is gone now, and he can feel his world view struggling to hold itself together without it.

Breathing out slowly, Sabo pinches the bridge of his nose, willing away the dizziness gathering at his temples and the nausea coiling in his stomach. 

He just… doesn’t understand why he feels so  _ fragile  _ now. 

(Like standing on a rickety old rope bridge, a gut-churning tilt from three hundred feet above a rocky ravine. Like no matter which direction he turns now, he’ll only take a step over air and towards his doom.)

Sabo shakes his head. He can’t… he can’t do this right now. He  _ won’t. _ Instead he stretches out his haki again, refocusing on his initial task of searching for- yes, there they are. Cole and Roman- _ san _ are on the level just below the deck. Both give off feelings of distress, though one is more compacted than the other.

They’re a safe distance from the pirates. 

Sabo withdraws his haki again, relieved. Hopefully, the pirates will have moved on by the time the pair reaches the deck and lifeboats. 

And if not… Well. He’ll figure it out. 

(One of the pirate’s haki gleams at him. The one who blazed and burned and professed a desire to kill him. The one who made his head ache and ache and ache, though he had no idea why.

Well. That’s not quite true. 

He knows why. He just doesn’t it want to be real.)

Straightening up, Sabo continues towards his private quarters, which would hopefully still be intact by the time he got there. The heat’s been getting worse as he went deeper down the levels, as well as the amount of dangers and unstable ground, and he worries his quarters and all the belongings in them have been destroyed at this point.

Including his old goggles. 

His gut clenches at the thought, putting an extra bit of haste in his step. 

Yet at the same time, a part of him sneers at his discomfort.  _ Why do you bother with keeping the old thing? _ It asks, nonexistent nose upturned derisively.  _ It’s filthy. Useless. _

It also sounds a lot like Stelly, which makes the voice far easier to push aside, thankfully. But even if he couldn’t, it’s not like Sabo has a decent answer to give anyway. Nostalgia, maybe? Longing? The hell of it? 

He doesn’t know. 

But he’s kept it close, year after year. Hidden, smuggled, secreted away—but never forgotten. 

The one time he  _ did _ forget, he… did something he regretted soon after. Deeply so.

...He’s getting those goggles back. He doesn’t need a why. 

Sabo comes to a stop before a rather dubious stretch of broken up hallway. The lights flicker in and out, and parts of the ceiling have fallen through, with the rest looking one wrong move from following. All in all, not the safest path. 

But he’s got no other choice at this point, Sabo thinks dismissively.

Then just as he takes step forward, lightly throwing out his haki to sense for falling hazards, a wave of fatigue washes over him, and he staggers to one knee with a gasp. 

_ Shit. _ His haki. Did he overuse it?

Cautiously, Sabo reaches inside himself, searching… only to find himself digging at the bottom of the metaphorical barrel. 

There’s no way around it then, the blond decides grimly. He’s only got dregs in reserve now, so until he finishes recharging his haki, he’ll continue the old fashioned way. On instinct. 

The ceiling above him creaks ominously. 

####  .

There’s a pair of goggles sitting on the dresser. Rimmed blue, with dark, angular lenses and a fraying strap. 

Ace knows those goggles. It may have been ten years since he’d last laid eyes on them, but he  _ knows _ those goggles. 

With a trance-like wonder, Ace lifts them from the errant stack of papers they sit upon. He rubs a thumb lightly against the left lense and- yes. There’s a tiny, crescent-shaped groove here, invisible to all but those who already know of its existence. The loving memento of a mountain bear that had been a tad quicker than three hungry brothers had expected. 

Ace barks out a nearly incredulous laugh.  _ He kept them… after all this time… _

“Something up?” Thatch calls curiously. 

Ace turns to see Thatch hovering by the door, and he holds up the goggles. “This is Sabo’s,” he beams, so unreasonably bright and wide, and Thatch doesn’t seem to get it, but bless him, the pompadoured man smiles back blindly anyway. 

Ace doesn’t begrudge him for not understanding. It’s not like Ace should need more evidence that Sabo is here. Outlook had already told him—in between all his elitist bullshit—that yes, Sabo was on this ship. 

But this is evidence of  _ more. _ Outlook had claimed, blisteringly, that Sabo had forgotten all about them, that he was a ‘true nobleman’ now and thought of them as trash, but Sabo  _ kept the goggles. _

Ace didn’t even realize until now that a part of him had believed what Outlook had said. 

The thought drags the smile off his face, and his mood darkens. 

_ You do this every time, _ Ace berates himself. First with Bluenote telling him that Sabo would be happier in High Town, and then with Outlook telling him that Sabo didn’t care about him and Luffy anymore… What kind of brother is he, that he keeps second-guessing his best friend at the drop of a hat like this? 

Ace tightens his grip on the goggles and sets his jaw. No more. He might not know why Sabo was here on his father’s ship instead of sailing the seas as a free man, but they swore eternal brotherhood together. He would give his brother the benefit of doubt, because that’s the very least he deserved. 

Though… if it turns out that Sabo had written that letter and deliberately  _ lied  _ to Ace and Luffy because he didn’t want them to worry about him...

Ace was going to punch him. 

“This must be his room then?” Thatch asks, glancing around the walls and slightly disheveled furniture, and Ace blinks in thought, before shrugging in a  _ guess-so _ sort of way. Thatch snickers. “Hope he’s not the tidy sort, since… you know.” 

Ace rolls his eyes at the jibe, trying not to look self-conscious as wind sweeps ashes and smoke into the room. 

Or what was left of it anyway. One of Ace’s fire strikes appears to have drilled a hole straight from the deck and through several of the levels, completely obliterating one of this room’s walls. Strangely enough though, aside from the splintered end of flooring now hanging over open water, there’s very little damage to the room itself, which is why when Ace and Thatch had jumped through the hole to more easily reach the lower levels where Ace had seen Sabo, they’d aimed for landing on this mostly intact outcropping. 

It’s all very convenient and at least a little lucky, especially since on the other side of the hole was a room engulfed in natural flames that Ace couldn’t dispel. Thatch had almost landed on the outcropping of  _ that _ room, before Marco had seen and tossed him opposite. 

Speaking of Marco… “We should get going,” Ace says, opening his side pouch to put the goggles inside. He’d give it to Sabo when they found him again. “At this rate, Marco will finish searching his side of the ship before we even start, and-”

“Duck!” 

Long-accustomed to sudden warnings in battle, Ace automatically lowers his body, moving his weight to the balls of his feet. 

His attacker deftly switches their kick to a lunge over his head in response, and he only gets a flash of golden hair and snarling white teeth that freezes him in his step, before black fills his vision and the hand on his face shoves him backwards. His whole skeleton rattles as the back of his head cracks against the wall, and he barely feels something being yanked from his fingers as he grunts, seeing stars when the hand disappears as fast as it’d come. 

But still, he knows that face. 

“Sabo,” he chokes out, finding his feet. 

Thatch hesitates as realization hits him, sword frozen above his opponent who lays vulnerable before him. 

The blond takes vicious advantage, sweeping his leg across the swordsman’s ankles and scrambling to his feet before the other man can recover. Then he’s up and he’s running and he’s-

“Sabo, NO!” Ace screams. 

But it’s too late. His brother launches off the broken ledge, flies through the air-

-and  _ flooms _ through the wall of flames in the room across from them. 

Ace staggers to his feet, a choked cry in his throat. His muscles bunch up, ready to hurdle him over there himself, but then to his relief, his brother’s silhouette appears by the far wall.

He watches the blond peer over one shoulder, meeting his eyes through the hazy wall of reds… and sucks in a breath as time grinds to a halt. 

(His brother looks like coals and brimstone, the black of his coat blurring his form and the gold of his hair seeming to glow white-hot. He is a shadow wreathed by flame, and smoke rises around him like grey, restless spirits. 

But he pants like an escapee from the depths of hell, and for all the fear Ace sees in his eyes, it’s practically  _ feral.) _

Time resumes. His brother turns on his heel and darts for the door. 

“W-wait!” Ace lurches forward, heart thumping in his ears, “Sabo, WAIT!” 

But the blond isn’t stopping, his hand is reaching for the doorframe-

“Go after him!” He hears Thatch urge, and that’s all the prompting Ace needs. He leaps across the huge gap, recklessly imbuing his legs with fire for more speed, and he only has an instant of sheepish remorse as he collides painfully with the other man’s back, ending in an awkward sprawl and a explosion of flying embers as they hit the ground.

Immediately, there’s an elbow flying at his face, and he barely dodges. 

“ _ Ack, _ Sabo, wait!” Ace yelps, leaning back, and he can barely hear himself over the roaring fire behind him, “Sabo, it’s me, it’s-!”

A foot swings through his head, muffling his words in a burst of flames. 

“Eh-?!” 

Ace’s face reforms, and in frustration he grabs the fists as they come, only to howl as he feels a stiff boot heel stomp on his knee  _ hard— _ because  _ ow, _ how the hell-?—but he doesn’t dare let go.

“Sabo,” he pants, “Sabo,  _ stop!” _ The blond’s eyes flash defiantly, ash smudges like bruises on his cheeks, but he’s still now, and it’s only a moment-

-and it’s all he needs. 

Ace tightens his grip. “Sabo, it’s me!” he shouts, throat hoarse and chest so desperately tight. “It’s  _ me…  _ I’m  _ Ace!” _

His brother stiffens. Stares back with midnight blue eyes, wide as new moons. 

There’s something storming there in those dark irises. A tumult of emotions so high and wild, that Ace can’t pick one out from the other. 

Then, hesitantly… “Ace?” Sabo breathes, and it’s a very, very quiet sound. 

Ace can’t help it. He laughs. He laughs, and his eyes water, and a nascent sob squeezes the back of his throat…

And he’s got Sabo  _ back _ . 

“Yeah,” Ace says, shaking with his relief, and his nigh hysterical laughter is one precarious slip from either giddy giggles or full-blown snarls. “Hey  _ asshole _ . How’ve you been?!”

####  .

Sabo can’t breathe. 

He can’t breathe, and it has nothing to do with the thick, black smog clogging his nose, nor the way every breath is full of blistering hot air that scrapes his throat. 

It has everything to do with the utterly crushing realization of who stands before him now. 

(A memory. A promise. Something in between, or something else entirely?

He’d known. He’d denied. 

He’d been a fool.)

And he sees the way the other man—oh god,  _ Ace, _ his  _ brother _ —smiles with unguarded affection, the way his harsh voice yet trembles with joy and his eyes shine with unshed tears, and Sabo, in the face of that, he-

His skin  _ crawls. _

With a pounding heart, Sabo yanks his arms from Ace’s grip, and finally Ace lets him. The burning floorboards sizzle and creak beneath him as he staggers back step after step, his head feels so light it could’ve flown away, and the first thing he says-

“You shouldn’t be here,” he whispers, and his voice is broken and hesitant in a way it hadn’t been since adopting a noble’s tongue, “You shouldn’t- I can’t- I didn’t want-!” 

_-for you to find me. To realize what I’ve become._ _To_ ** _know_** _me as I am now._

Ace’s face falls into hurt in the blink of an eye, and Sabo’s stomach twists so violently he thinks he might vomit. 

Yet Ace smiles again—though it’s a much more crooked thing, all the joy replaced by bemusement and anxiety. “What, you aren’t happy to see me?” Ace almost-jokes, and Sabo’s suddenly confused because there’s almost none of the temper he instinctively expected, none of the impatience and sullen offense he might’ve remembered.  

It occurs to him, very fleetingly in the back of his mind, to wonder why that is. 

Then before Sabo can do much more than open his mouth-

(-and what was he going to say? He doesn’t know. He doesn’t  _ know.) _

-the whole world tips over with a roar. 

Sabo tumbles forward with a cry, chucked into a graceless roll by the lurching floor before he can catch himself, with a horrid, beastly cry ringing in the air. 

He tries to find his balance but it’s shot to hell, mind too frazzled and lungs too light on air, and he barrels through a wall of red and catches a glimpse of black-blue and he’s  _ about to roll off the damn ledge-! _

An arm clamps around his ribs like an iron band, a loud  _ crack!  _ in his ears, and he jolts to a sudden stop in the time of a choked breath. 

There’s a distinctively metallic sound somewhere, the swing of a sword cleaving through flesh, and in a dizzying moment, it’s over. The ship reverberates with pained moans as the floor’s lurching slows, like an old man falling heavily into his rocking chair and letting gravity level it out. As his gut stops turning, Sabo gulps in cold night air, so refreshingly thin compared to the smog deep in the room, and it’s a wakeful slap to the face as he hears an irritable grunt beside his head. 

“Damn sea-kings,” Ace mutters, lifting himself from where he’d tackled Sabo to the ground to catch him. 

Sabo flinches as he moves, disoriented by the dichotomous tandem of floorboards creaking loudly where Ace placed his weight by his right ear, and the sea splashing mockingly as though a mere foot below rather than two hundred in his left. 

“You two alright up there?” a voice hollars from somewhere across the gap. 

Ace shifts and waves carelessly. “We’re good, Thatch, thanks!” 

Sabo breathes slowly. And when his heart eventually stops beating at the speed of a hummingbird’s wings, he swallows dryly and asks, with a mild tone, “Friend of yours?” 

“Yeah,” Ace nods. Then his gaze grows serious. 

With the way his body still hovers over Sabo’s own, the end of his medallion hanging low enough to brush Sabo’s coat and his expression harsh with intent against the backdrop of the black sky, Sabo becomes hyper-aware of how Ace is essentially trapping him, a hand close enough to  _ snap _ his neck on a whim, and tension rides up Sabo’s spine before he can help it. 

Ace’s expression flickers, and suddenly it’s not so much demanding as it is determined. “You’re coming with us, right?” 

Sabo blinks. “What?” 

“You’re coming with us,” his brother repeats. Firmly. Stubbornly. Like it’s so  _ simple _ . 

Frowning, Sabo automatically opens his mouth to argue, and-

Well... It is, isn’t it? Isn’t it that simple now? Logically speaking? 

( _ “You don’t really belong to either world, kid.” _ )

Sabo closes his mouth. Stares at his brother. 

And one more time, the world shifts. 

There’s a creak. Close or far, Sabo can’t really tell. But then there’s a  _ crack, _ a  _ crash, _ and high over Ace’s shoulder, something hurtles towards them, and Sabo’s instincts  _ scream. _

_ “ACE!” _ he hears someone cry, and it might be him, it might be Ace’s friend, but he doesn’t pay much attention. 

Sabo jams a foot into his brother’s gut, grabs him by the shoulders, and with all his strength, throws Ace back into the room. 

He meets Ace’s horrified gaze for a split second. Looks back up. 

And somehow he has time to think, that if this is how he dies, it’s actually not that bad of a way to go. 

Something hits, hurts… and everything goes black. 

####  .

.

~~_ Ace, Luffy- _ ~~

~~_ It’s been a while, hasn’t it? I hope you two are alright. _ ~~

~~_ I’m writing after all this time to let you know that I’m leaving Dawn Island soon. In fact, by the time you get this, I’ll definitely be gone already.  _ ~~

~~_ Though I do wish I could have seen you guys one last time, before I go.  I’m sure this sounds sappy, but I miss you. I miss you both so, so much that it hurts, and sometimes it feels like getting hit by one of Gramp’s stupid Fists of Love, you know? I wish tha _ ~~

 

_ (Arrogant bastard. How dare you. How dare you mention Gramps, how dare you pretend you still belong with them. _

_ You  _ **_know_ ** _ how they are.  _

_ Don’t make them blame themselves. It’s not their job to protect you.  _

_ It never has been.) _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .  
> .  
> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> So anyway. As you can see, I ended in on a major cliffhanger and when I first posted, i didn't have the chapter after this one written yet. typically, that's not a problem. however, I uh... have an issue with my writing habits. See, for several other fanfics i'd written in the past, i made the mistake of posting a major cliffhanger without preparing the next chapter. and then. i never touched the story again. idk, i guess I couldn't work up the will to finish the job? It's a bad habit really, and i didn't want to do that again with this story, so as soon as i realized that i deleted it.  
> So yeah. that's what's up. sorry again. ;_;  
> edit: oh yeah, and i should mention, chap6 IS written now. for the most part. it'll prob be up on like. sunday? mon? soon. :]


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 6_6
> 
> also: added tag for child abuse.

_He awoke at the worst time._

_He could hear, from across the room, his father. Angry and biting, a sharper quality to his tone beyond the usual dripping condescension._

_“How long until he can use his hands again?”_

_“Considering his general health,” an older voice hummed, “I’d say two to four weeks. He’ll have limited flexibility in the wrists, but that should improve with time, and his dexterity should be intact, regardless.”_

_“I see.”_

_A creak of leather, and the snap of metal buttons. “I’ll return to check on his condition in two days. Make sure to keep the bandages dry until then.”_

_“Of course. You have my thanks, Doctor.”_

_The doctor coughed delicately. “Ah, Outlook-san, my, ah, ‘bonus?’”_

_“My butler will give you the payment at the door.”_

_“I thank you verily,” the man said, now sounding much more chipper at the prospect of receiving his ‘bonus.’ “I’ll just show myself out then,” and the door slid shut with a quiet thud._

_Silence echoed around him, and if he didn’t know any better, he would’ve assumed his father had left the room as well._

_But he_ **_did_ ** _know better, and the knowledge suffocated him._

_There was a short tap, a cane hitting wooden floor, and the soft slither of fine fabrics._

_“I know you’re awake, Sabo,” his father said. His voice was a dangerous sort of calm, low and near trembling with rage, and it made sweat break out over the boy’s entire body._

_“_ **_Get up._ ** _”_

_He opened his eyes._

_Absently, he noted the bandages wrapped around his forearms, even and clean. He noted the numbness at his inner wrists, the utter weariness in his bones, the ache pulsing within his skull. Then he ignored it all._

_The blond dragged himself up, feeling as though he were pulling each limb with a string, a limp puppet trying to give itself the impression of life._

_But he managed. He sat up. Slipped his legs out from under the covers. Turned, put his pale, naked feet on the ground._

_“Come here.”_

_He only bristled for a moment. Pushed to his feet before his father’s palpable temper could snap. He didn’t bother telling himself that he wasn’t a beaten dog shuffling back to its master, tail tucked between its legs in shame._

_He stopped before his father, wordless and without fire. A youth with eyes too old, wallowing in failure, already burnt out of spirit whilst his body had been forced to survive, with only ashes left behind to call his rage._

_His father backhanded him so hard he saw stars before he hit the ground._

_“You, are a_ **_disgrace,_ ** _” his father seethed, and he didn’t say anything to that. “What in god’s name were you thinking?! Do you have any idea how this would have looked if you’d died?! How badly you would’ve ruined Stelly’s prospects if anyone but the guard had found you?!”_

_He remained silent._

_His father’s cane tapped the ground. Then...“I see,” he murmured. “You simply don’t care.” Another tap. “Well then. If you refuse to make yourself useful to me, then those two boys are no use to me either.”_

_Sabo’s breath hitched. He threw out an arm, biting down on a cry of pain as he dug his twitching fingers into the man’s pant leg. “No,” he gasped. “No, don’t_ **_touch_ ** _them, don’t-”_

_Outlook yanks his leg away in disgust, like he would when street beggars would grasp pathetically at the gold at his lapels and the silver on his cuffs. “You knew what would happen if you pulled something like this,” he said coldly, and Sabo’s heart twisted._

_Because yes, he’d known. He’d known, but for once—for one horrible moment—he_ **_hadn’t cared._ **

_And_ **_that_ ** _made him more ashamed than anything Outlook could say to him._

 _Taking a shaky breath, Sabo maneuvered onto his knees and bowed his head. “I… I experienced a lapse in judgement,” he stammered, evening his words, prettying them up in a clean, cultured accent. His wrists burned accusingly beneath their bandages. “It won’t happen again, I swear it. I_ **_swear_ ** _it.”_

_Silence. Then finally, “Very well.”_

_Sabo breathed out a sigh of relief._

_“However-” and Sabo flinched as the tip of the cane struck the ground beside his head, like the court mallet of a judge. “Know this, son. If_ **_death_ ** _is something you no longer fear, then I have other ways of punishing them. For example…” his tone grew sinister, and Sabo peered up in trepidation, only to freeze under the intense gaze leveled upon him._

 _Outlook leaned down, and said, “if you should_ **_ever_ ** _attempt to step out of line like this again, I will ensure your two friends are_ **_sold_ ** _for every pretty penny your misbehavior costs me._

 _“And they will_ **_never_ ** _be free again.”_

####  **.**

.

Ace hears someone enter the room, sandals gently scuffing the floor, but he doesn’t react. He knows who it is.

Instead he continues listening to the broken rhythm he’s been listening to for three days straight. The ragged breaths. The sharp, pained whines. The off-tick beeps of the heart monitor.

The evidence that his brother is still alive.

The newcomer sighs, and there’s a soft _click_ as they shut the door behind themselves. A few steps circling, and then they’re in front of him.

“You know, yoi… the fact that you leave this room _just_ long enough to finish your duties and eat,” Marco says with a neutral sort of tone, “doesn’t mean I can’t still yell at you for being too cooped up in here, yoi.”

Ace twitches and shifts his head just enough to shoot a half-hearted glare at the First Mate. “I want to stay with my brother,” he growls. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“There is when you spend every hour stewing in guilt about what’s not your fault,” Marco counters.

Ace scoffs, but a broken whimper slips between them before Ace can snap a retort, drawing both men’s attention. “ _Nngh… no… n-no…”_

The sound brings an immediate stop to Ace’s spiking ire, and he looks away again, tracing the rims of the weathered blue goggles in his hands as agitation becomes a now familiar knot of nausea and frustration.

His brother, upper body almost entirely wrapped in neatly bound bandages and drenched in sickly sweat, trembles beneath a thin cot sheet as a nightmare captures Sabo in its grasp for the nth time in three days, while Ace can do nothing but watch and listen.

He doesn’t know what Sabo is seeing behind those closed eyes, but Ace has seen the tortured expressions that cross his brother’s face, the way it contorts in rage and then breathless pain. He can only guess at the cause though, and his stomach sinks deeper and deeper into despair with the continual reminders of how powerless he is to relieve his brother’s agony.

Ace shrinks into himself.

He knows the others worry about him, but he can’t leave Sabo’s side. Not like this.

He’d seen when Sabo had first come aboard. When Thatch had pulled his brother out of the water, pulsing red blood smearing the entire left side of his face and ugly textured burns wrecking his shoulder and arm. The blond had been unconscious then, pale and limp and lifeless, and Ace had still been so confused, so _terrified_ by everything that had happened...

Until the Whitebeard medical staff bustled him out of the way and took over. They’re old hands at treating even the most dire of injuries, and they pulled together without Ace even needing to ask, giving Sabo the same dedication as if he were already one of their own. And Ace, in between all his crushing guilt, felt so helplessly, pointlessly grateful for the small hope they offered.

But then the fever had hit.

A vicious, defiant thing, disregarding all measures the doctors and nurses had taken to tame it, and running his brother so dangerously hot that even Ace could feel the unnatural warmth.

And with fevers… there’s very little one can do, except to wait. Either for it to run its course and break... or for the host to break first.

Ace refused to believe Sabo would turn out the latter. Just like he’d refused to believe Sabo had been anything less than well while sailing on his own for the past ten years.

(But he’d been dead wrong.)

“Thatch told me this guy saved you, yoi.” Ace flinches back at the bluntness, but Marco is unrelenting. “That he kicked you out of the way, kept you from getting crushed by the beam.”

“The _mast_ beam,” Ace corrects harshly, not meeting the First Mate’s eyes. “From the mast _I_ broke-”

“So that makes it all your fault, yoi?”

“It _is_ my fault!” and Ace doesn’t mean to raise his voice, but the words explode out of him anyway, a great pressure that’s been stoppered too long in a bottle.

 _(“You shouldn’t be here,”_ his brother had whispered, his dark eyes blown wide with something akin to horror and fear.

 _Don’t do anything stupid like follow me!!_ His brother had written, a shameless liar between the lines.)

It’s the third day. A third day of waiting, of thinking too long and about too much, of remembering and remembering and not being able to put the pieces together.

Oh he has an inkling. A terrible, miserable idea that’s been in the making since he’d first seen Sabo in that noble finery, and had only grown stronger by Outlook’s confirmation that Sabo had been with him for the past decade.

Then Sabo had saved him, and had proved that he still cared so very, very much.

And Ace has come to be... afraid.

Because the three of them: Ace, Sabo, Luffy… they’d become friends and then brothers over the idea of _freedom._ Over the dream to live as they wish, and the promise to support each other in that no matter what. And Ace remembers Sabo’s wide-eyed curiosity, his drive to know more and more and more, to truly _see_ the whole world which had been denied to him by the distorted glass walls of nobility. He’d thought Sabo was pursuing that. But if Sabo had actually lived the past ten years in a cage, seeing nothing past gilded bars and reducing the _entire_ purpose of his life to _nothing_ but ensuring theirs…

Ace doesn’t think he could’ve ever condemned his brother to a more monstrous fate.

Lying on the medical cot, Sabo’s next breath rattles like bones, drawn out dry and painful and trembling in the air, and Ace closes his hand tightly over Sabo’s old goggles as he stares at the bandages masking Sabo’s left eye.

“It is my fault,” Ace repeats, and it’s a pale whisper teeming with more than words can articulate.

Marco narrows his eyes. Somehow, despite Ace not having explained to anyone his history with Sabo yet, the blond pirate seems to understand now that this is about more than the guilt of needing to be saved, of nearly _killing_ his _own brother_ back on that ship.  So after a moment, he simply sighs and leans one hip on the end of the cot. “I may not know your brother personally, yoi,” he begins, crossing his arms, “but I doubt he’d want you to blame yourself.”

Ace hesitates before answering. “I know.”

“Then stop,” Marco says firmly. “He put himself in danger _for_ you, Ace. Not _because_ of you. There’s a difference, yoi.”

The underlying richness of sincerity makes Ace want to squirm, and a part of him wants to growl that there really _isn’t_ , that if the result of his brother getting hurt is the same then he doesn’t _care_ about any difference.

But he remains quiet. Because somehow he can easily imagine Sabo saying the same thing.

He still doesn’t like it.

#### .

Later that evening, Sabo has another nightmare.

And Ace learns something he’s not sure he ever wanted to know.

It starts with a strangled cry, pitched high and broken like glass, and Ace jumping to his feet as he realized it was a _name._

 _“Ace,”_ Sabo cries again, sweat-soaked brow furrowed in agony and head tossing back and forth on the pillow. _“Lu-_ I won’t- _Ggh- Don’t-!”_

Instinctively, Ace goes to stroke the blond’s hair in a gesture of comfort, a habit borne of caring for Luffy, but then he hesitates. He remembers how Sabo reacted the last time he’d tried that. Inaudible nothings turned to whimpers and screams, light spasms escalated to entire fits.

All because Ace touched his forehead and tried to whisper that he’d be okay.

People in the middle of a nightmare don’t usually react well to being woken up, the nurses had said later. Their fear follows them into waking. And so Ace hadn’t known what to do.

Then Sabo keeps talking.

“Don’-! Don’ touch th’m!” Sabo hisses, louder and more articulate than in any of his previous, fever-induced night terrors, and there’s _rage_ biting the end of his voice, “You can’t… _no…_ ”

His words crumble like sand, and in the next breath, Ace hears _sobs_ . “Don’ touch th’m, _don’ touch th’m, you can’t…”_

Ace’s heart cracks in two, as he realizes with utter certainty who Sabo is dreaming of.

He can’t hold himself away after that. Not when Sabo seems to be caught in his most lucid nightmare yet, tears streaming to his ears from tightly clenched eyes and body beginning to thrash so violently it seems like he’d break his own neck.

Ace grabs Sabo’s hand, tangling his fingers with Sabo’s bandaged ones but doing his best not to make the grip feel restrictive. Sabo makes a terrible sound, choked gasps like drowning in blood, but Ace doesn’t let him go. Feeling a painful swell in his chest, Ace instead licks his dry lips and hopes his voice can reach his brother through the fog of unconsciousness. 

“Sabo… Sabo, we’re alright,” Ace croaks, watching his brother continue to babble and weep with a lead weight in his chest. “Luffy and I are fine, Sabo, we’re safe, I promise.”

And he keeps on with that, whispering reassurances, comforts into his brother’s ear, but it’s all in vain. There’s no relief in the lines of Sabo’s pallid face, no peace in his twitching limbs.

Even though he’d already known it, the reaffirmation that he’s so _fucking useless_ fills Ace with a buzz he can’t describe, a rage and self-loathing that electrifies his every nerve ending like static noise, and Ace curls in on himself, shoulders trembling with despair.

“ _Dammit…_ Sabo, just… _wake up_ , you _ass,_ ” Ace hisses, squeezing Sabo’s fingers, “I’m fine, Luffy’s fine, we’re- we’re fucking _free,_ so wake up already and let me _punch you_ for being such a _stupid prick!”_

There’s quiet. Lowered, laboured breathing instead of choked sobs, and that should’ve been his first clue.

Then Sabo squeezes back.

Ace’s head shoots up so fast that it spins for a second, and he only just regains his bearings when he hears Sabo murmur, “Ace?”

Ace blinks, locks eyes with his brother-

“You’re…? Lu’s free?” Sabo mutters, his only visible eye glazed with the deep haze of sleep, and facial muscles slightly slack. “Y’r free?”

Ace feels his shoulders fall. But… it’s better than nothing, he thinks, settling down. “Yeah,” Ace says, and there’s… almost a laugh in his throat. “Yeah, we’re free. And I’ll tell you about it. Show you even. Just wake up first. Prick.”

Sabo doesn’t do much more than blink blearily in response. “Free…” He repeats, contemplative. Then he smiles, a tired line across his lips, “He didn’ sell you.”

Frigid cold fills Ace’s veins. _Sell?_

That tired smile remains unmoved. “Tha’s good. Fath’ can’t… good. Ace deserve’ bett’r. An’ Lu…” his face scrunches up slightly, but for once it’s closer to determination than pain, “Lu’s… king. Gonna be... the p’r... k’ng…”

And just like that, Sabo drops off to deep sleep again.

Meanwhile Ace stares, paralyzed by what he’d heard.

_“He didn’ sell you.”_

Ace wants to believe that it was a meaningless statement. A nightmare borne of fever and delirium and _purely that_ instead of any base truth. Or maybe he’d just misheard. Or Sabo had misspoken.

But for some reason, he can’t convince himself.

 _Don’t do anything stupid like follow me!!_ Sabo had written. _Your freedom means everything to me,_ he’d written.

Freedom. Not just life. _Freedom._

_...Oh god._


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *handwaving*  
> 

When Sabo had first started using observation haki, _Shishou_ used to make a point of teaching him to avoid blows to the head. She’d wallop the back of his skull when he least expected it, or nearly jab his eyeball out after he left the washroom.

Her stubborn, tactless lack of restraint came to the point that he’d had to negotiate (read: beg) for grace periods, especially after his father started giving him the stink-eye for coming to social functions with makeup masking the bruises on his cheeks

Sabo still mastered it eventually; _Shishou_ was thorough like that. However, even years after _Shishou_ left Goa, Sabo would never forget the splitting headaches she’d give him for failing to train his senses.

He reflects now, as his eyes flutter open to dim light and the smell of antiseptic, that this feels a great deal like it.

 _I’ll need to get some ice,_ Sabo decides absently, dragging leaden limbs to push him into sitting up.

Then the foreign details strike him all at once.

The high pips of a heart monitor. The narrower field of vision. The aching of his left side, and all the bandages wrapped around his torso and curling all the way down to his palms.

(There’s the pulse of a memory, unpleasant and cold around his arms, but it passes before he can make anything of it.)

Oh, and the head of raven black hair, laid upon tan, lightly freckled arms, mere inches from Sabo’s own.

Sabo stares. And stares.

Then Ace snorts in his sleep, and Sabo just… panics.

He bolts upright, arms flailing, and then gasps, blinded by the incandescent pain crackling through his entire body at once. For a moment, Sabo is literally incapable of doing anything but _breathe_ , waiting for the searing sensations to crawl back into the nerve endings from whence they came with breathless pants.  

Meanwhile Ace sleeps on, unaware.

 _Small mercies,_ Sabo thinks with a shallow laugh, twitching as the kneejerk panic gradually drains from his blood, the angry, throbbing red in his body fading to simply an uncomfortable hum beneath his skin.

He’s not ready to face his brother.

(He’s not ready to face his fear.)

Once he no longer feels like his bones are imploding on themselves, Sabo takes a deep breath and turns a weighing stare over his brother, only to feel a slight frown pulling over his face.

 _...He looks stressed,_ Sabo notes, tilting his head at the subtle bags under his brother’s eyes and the wrinkles of a frown on his face.

It’s odd, in a way. He’s plenty familiar with that unhappy glare in waking hours, back when they were kids, but… it was a different face. And at least in sleep Ace had seemed—perhaps not peaceful, but unburdened. Released from the heaviness of the world.

Now he looks like he’d carried that heaviness straight into his dreams.

Sabo curls his fingers into the sheets and smiles grimly. _No need to guess why._

The smile soon falls, and he stares thoughtfully at his lap. Ace… found him. Ace brought him here, wherever ‘here’ is.

But he can’t stay here.

Obviously. It’s not his place, he’s not who Ace wants, and he has… _things_ … to attend to anyway.

He has to run. Leave. He has to get as far away as he can, as fast as he can, he has to-

Sabo clamps down on the panic before it can fly too far. _Breathe, fool._ **_Think._ **

What can he do, as of now? He’s injured. He’s obviously not on his own ship- so he’s without any of his own resources. And following that vein of logic, Ace had probably brought him onto _his_ ship. His pirate ship?

Sabo frowns. Something about that feels off.

Then a splash of color catches his eye.

A large tattoo, emblazoned on Ace’s back. The insignia of the-

-the Whitebeard Pirates.

_“You’re going to kill him?” “Probably.”_

Sabo blinks. That’s… right. Ace is… the Whitebeard pirate that attacked his ship. A _Whitebeard_ pirate.

And… Ace wanted to kill him?

A part of Sabo’s brain spazzes on reflex, hissing _he knows he knowsheknows-_ But the rest of him—the logical part of him—forces it calm, makes himself remember every indication of otherwise: The slack-jawed shock at the sound of a name. The desperate save from a harrowing height. The tangible relief in a greeting that was too aggressive to be true anger.

The sudden disappearance of a father and three hakis standing too close to the first to be unremarkable.

Sabo’s stomach drops.

_Did... did Ace kill my father…?_

He could’ve, Sabo thinks dumbly. And easily, no doubt. It’s not like his father had been powerful in any physical way; he wouldn’t have stood a chance against the calamitous force that distinguished a New World pirate.

(Out of nowhere, Sabo is struck with a heady sense of pride, a vicious satisfaction that hurts as much as it shoots frissons down his back because good god, Ace _had_ become powerful hadn’t he? Just like he said he would. _Just like they wanted.)_

And _wouldn’t that be so terribly fitting?_ After all his father had done to prevent him from becoming a pirate... the man ultimately dies at the hands of his pirate brother. A truly ironic turn of fate, if he’d ever seen one.

Almost even funny, if it didn’t make something in him want to scream first.

_Focus._

He forces himself to breathe.

So. Maybe his father was who Ace had been talking about, back then? That would make sense. After what the man had done to them, after everything he’d ruined, Sabo can’t imagine that Ace would be any fonder of the man than he was.

But on the other hand, Sabo smiles ruefully, Ace has plenty of reason to be displeased with _him_ too.

And what else did he expect? He knows Ace and Luffy had been under the impression that he’d escaped Goa Kingdom- that he was _happy._ He’d ensured it himself.

(Ensured they grew up without the oppressive burden of worrying about him.

Ensured they lived without the burden of regretting his fate.

Ensured that his brothers—his most precious family—would be forever ignorant. Just as Sabo had intended from the beginning.

Even if the ending had not been what he’d wanted.)

Yet here was the undeniable evidence that he had not, in fact, escaped at all.

Ace isn’t an idiot. He’ll have figured out by now that Sabo lied. That Sabo wanted to keep them out of High Town, where Sabo’s father would’ve more easily gotten his hands on them.

In which case, it’s probable that he will _legitimately_ want to kill Sabo. Or in the very least, he won’t _thank_ Sabo for the gesture.

Sabo had known that from the start though, so he’s not bothered.

However, it does leave him with quite a conundrum: how to lie about _this._

He can’t have Ace know what he’s truly like now. Nor what he’s done. He’s heard enough from _Shishou_ to know that even pirates have certain standards, and Sabo is aware he’s crossed a few of them before.

( _“We have to set sail one day, and become the freest in the whole world!”)_

Sabo rubs two fingers together pensively.

He won’t defile Ace’s childhood memories of their brotherhood. He can’t. He’s willing to be cruel in many aspects of his life, but _not this one._

Can he pretend, perhaps? Sabo barely recalls what he _used_ to be like. Certainly not what he is now—but that’s not much to work from.

Because Sabo is _not_ a pirate. He is possessive and deceptive and cutthroat and a _nobleman._ Not...

Not a pirate.

 _( ~~Not~~ _ ~~**_free_**~~ _.)_

Sabo’s hand goes to pinch the bridge of his nose—which is partially covered by a bandage, inconveniently enough—and he sighs under his breath. There’s no way to go about this without hurting his brother _some_ how. Minimal damage though…

He peeks down at his slumbering brother through the gaps of his fingers. His gut squirms, but he forces it still.

It’s been ten years, Sabo knows. And a great deal can change in ten years. How that change manifests, Ace doesn’t have to know. Sabo can just become someone else.

Someone who’s… satisfied, by his life as a nobleman. Who doesn’t care for their classism and narcissistic tendencies, but has made a niche he’s content to stay in.

Someone who still cares for his sworn brothers dearly, who’s glad to know his brothers are well and pursuing their dreams, but who himself discarded his own because he felt no need for it anymore.

Someone _empty_ of that vital spark that had brought them together in the first place.

(Maybe it’s not that far from the truth after all.)

Ace will no doubt be… confused. Disappointed, even.

But the strength of some relationships… they fade. People drift apart, and that’s just a natural fact of life. If Sabo can convince Ace that’s what happened, if he can make his brother no longer feel so strongly ~~for him~~ for the boy who used to exist...

That’ll be enough.

And it will hurt. He knows this already, he feels the heartache building in his chest.

But he won’t have their bond ruined by rotting decay, nor will he dishonor it by building it up with shallow falsities.

So he will help it simply _disappear_. No muss, no fuss; no gains, no scars.

He’ll never manage it on his end. Ace and Luffy… they’re his light. He thinks of them, and he thinks of the world that exists outside corrupted high society, and everything that could have been, and he is able to _see_ himself for what he truly is. And he will never let that go. He can’t afford to.

Ace, on the other hand… Ace has his crew. A yonko he calls his captain (which is odd, he could never imagine Ace under someone else’s command, but perhaps he’s not the only who’s changed?), and the freedom to create new bonds with anyone he meets upon the endless expanse of the sea.

And Luffy, of course. Ace would always have Luffy, and Luffy would always have Ace. If nothing else, Sabo knows that _that_ would be true no matter what.

It’ll be a delicate line to walk. To be a mirror of the past, but only a pale reflection. Enough to evoke nostalgia, but not enough to nurture fondness.

Sabo doesn’t care. He’s been playing games of pretend since he was thirteen.

He can do this. He _will_ do this.

(And he will pray that he does not become a coward and _break_ before the process is done.)

#### .

~~_Ace, Luffy-_ ~~

~~_It’s been a while, hasn’t it? I hope you two are alright. I really miss you guys._ ~~

~~_I’m writing after all this time to let you know that I’m leaving Dawn Island soon. In fact, by the time you get this letter, I’ll definitely be gone already. It’s a bit earlier than we initially agreed to set out I’m sorry to say, but I hope you’ll understand._ ~~

~~_Well, not really. I would never want you to understand what it feels like to be here, your entire world trying to strangle you into being something you’re not. You guys would hate it, even more than I do, probably._ ~~

~~_That’s why I’m leaving though. I can’t stand it here. I can’t stand the idea of becoming someone I don’t recognize, and I’m so afraid that you’ll hate me if I do,_ ~~

 

_(...There’s really no need to elaborate too deeply on that.)_


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me, with a gun: stop restarting the chapter  
> also me, writing version 7 draft 3 of chapter 8: but.  
> me, turning off the safety: stop.  
> also me: bUT  
> me: STOP. JUST FINISH THE FUCKING DRAFT.  
> also me: AHHHHHHHHHHH  
> me: AHHHHHHHHHHH  
> :) anyway. if you wanted to know, this is why last chapter was a bit shorter than usual. cause this bit, which was supposed to be the second half, refused to work out.  
> on the other hand, if finally finished this!! at 5am!! on Christmas morning!!! it's a christmas miracle!! :D and i should not be posting this so quickly but there's magic in the air and a smidgen of happiness, so here you go!!!!!  
> Have a safe and happy holiday, everyone!!!!!

Sabo’s fever broke on the morning of the sixth day.

His shivering practically disappeared, his breathing grew easier. Sabo was going to be okay.

Sabo was going to be _awake_.

It was welcome news in the wake of that strange, foreboding nightmare Ace had overheard, but somehow, what should have relieved him only made him more jittery, more on-edge.

He’d been waiting for days to talk to his brother again, to get decent answers on what the hell had _really_ happened since they’d last seen each other; and before that, _years_ simply to see him.

...just not like this.

Not after nearly getting his brother killed. Not after nearly _killing his brother._

And no, it doesn’t matter that Ace hadn’t known who he was attacking or that in the end, his brother survived.

 _He’d_ left Sabo behind first. Left his brother in High Town for three years, and then naively let the blond unburden his mind of the constant question of how he fared in exchange for a reassuring fantasy of living wild and well on the water.

(Sabo may have lied to them. But Ace _abandoned_ him, and realizing this had never hurt so much as it does upon seeing his brother now.)

He’s still going to rip his brother a new one, of course. For that stupid, _absolutely_ unnecessary letter-

( _“He didn’ sell you.”)_

-and for doing something so idiotic as nearly dying for him-

_(Eyes blown wide, narrowing with determination, and a stiff boot planted in his gut before he can blink._

_There one moment. Gone the next.)_

But… he has his own mistakes to make up for. He can only hope that his brother will let him.

(They made an oath, nearly a decade ago. They became then, and are now, brothers. Not even the tireless march of time can take that from them.

He needs to remember that.)

With that sobering thought in mind, Ace sits up and yawns, long and wide enough to make his jaw pop twice.

“I don’t have any food to throw in your mouth, if that’s what you’re waiting for.”

Ace’s mouth slams shut with a startled _clack_ and he whips his eyes over, all remnants of drowsiness swept away in a flash.

Across from him, Sabo gives a placid smile, blond hair curling in that dried-sweat sort of look and one darkened eye staring out from his pale face like a blueberry sunken in snow. He doesn’t look as well-rested as he should be, with his gaunt frame and the ill-fitting tunic hanging around his gauze-wrapped shoulders like a swaying shipwreck, but there’s no denying the wakeful spark in his gaze.

Ace can’t help but marvel at the sobering difference it makes from Sabo’s fevered sleep.

“Good morning,” Sabo says mildly.

“G’morning,” Ace parrots, completely on reflex.

Sabo’s eyebrow twitches, like he’s amused.

... _this motherfucker._

Quick as a whip, Ace splays his fingers across Sabo’s forehead, pulls back his middle finger and then gives his brother a finger flick from hell.

The sharp _smack!_ drowns out Sabo’s pained yelp, and Ace only feels a sliver of guilt for doing it over the bandages of still-healing wounds.

“Ow, what-?!”

Ace crosses his arms. “That was for-“

_-saving me. Sacrificing yourself. Lying to us._

“-being an asshole,” he says viciously.

Sabo doesn’t protest. Instead he rubs his forehead slowly, before letting his hands fall to his lap with a quiet chuckle. “That’s fair.” He peers a slanted look at Ace. “I don’t suppose you’ll forgive me.”

Ace narrows his eyes. “Are you apologizing?”

“No.”

“Then fuck you.”

Sabo smiles at him again, soft and inoffensive, but to his bewilderment, Ace immediately feels his hackles rise.

He’s not sure what it is… but something about that smile prickles him, strikes him with visceral surety that it’s _wrong wrong wrong wrong-_

“It’s nice to see you again too, Ace,” Sabo teases, that vague smile still affixed to his face. He waves a hand wryly at the rest of the room. “Although I admit—after that complete fiasco earlier, I didn’t think I would.”

_(Wine-red blood, gushing from the head. Gruesome burns, stretching across torn flesh-)_

“Well, you _were_ kind of _dying,”_ Ace says sardonically, each word unnecessarily harsh as he shoves away the bloody memory. “So it was either bring you on this ship or watch you die, which, you know. Is an experience I _definitely_ could have gone without.”

The quirk in Sabo’s mouth just barely counts as a smirk. “Aw, Ace... were you worried about me?”

 _“Yes!”_ Ace snaps.

Like a startled fish in a pond, Sabo jolts, smile slipping minutely. A soft, poignant uncertainty flashes across his face that Ace despises on sight, along with that barest shade of disbelief.

Sabo’s grin reasserts itself in an instant.

 _Oh,_ Ace thinks, blinking at the difference. So that’s what it was.

“I was only teasing…” Sabo laughs, lifting his hands in a mollifying gesture. But Ace can hear it now—the way his lightness barely keeps from echoing hollow. “I’m alright now, _ne?_ No need to get so upset.”

Ace stares long and hard at his brother, and to his credit, the blond doesn’t falter at all.

For a smile only raised as a wall, it makes sense. The undercurrent of apathy was… subtle, but definitely disconcerting. Ace probably wouldn’t have been able to put a word to it if it hadn’t slipped for that fleeting moment.

_He wants to cut me off again._

Ace breathes in deeply and exhales. Loosening his clenched fingers from around his arms, he stands from his chair, and then resettles on the edge of Sabo’s bed.

When he meets Sabo’s gaze again, they are at equal eye-level, less than an arm's length from each other, and up this close, Ace can see the stitching of the gauze covering his brother’s eye and the pinch of tautness seeping into his shoulders.

“Are you?” Ace asks bluntly, phrasing it like a challenge. “Are you _really_ alright?”

Sabo hesitates, then huffs a laugh. It almost sounds genuine. “ _Yes,_ Ace,” he answers with a hint of mocking indulgence, abruptly throwing Ace back to a time when Sabo sometimes won arguments against Ace just by making his voice _sound_ smarter no matter how stupid his points actually were. “I’m fine. All four limbs accounted for and everything.”

Ace’s temper prickles. “That’s not what I was asking about,” he growls, and Sabo has the gall to simply roll his eyes.

“I know,” the blond drawls. Then his demeanor softens, head tilting in a way that begs of demurity. “I _am_ fine, Ace.” A small smirk lifts the corner of his lip. “My father was more idiotic than he was rich. Believe me--the worst he ever did was piss me off. He could never actually hurt me.”

When Ace only stares at him in suspicion, Sabo backtracks, averting his gaze in a nearly sheepish manner. “Ah… aside from when it came to you guys, I suppose. But even then- they're just words.”

It was almost impressive. If the words were anything else than the bullshit he could sense it was, Ace might’ve bought whatever Sabo was saying.

 _(“He didn’ sell you,”_ and is living in fear not a type of suffering?)

He bites back any accusation though. “Well, you don’t have to worry about that anymore,” Ace declares. “Outlook is dead.”

The reaction he gets to that is underwhelming. An odd blink and ominously neutral “...Ah. I see.”

Ace doesn’t know what to make of it. He wishes Luffy were here; the younger boy had always had a knack for drawing out Sabo’s softer sides.

A glint of dull blue catches his periphery then, and he turns his head in consideration. Decisively, Ace snatches the object off the bedside table, and then grabs his brother’s wrist, turning his arm palm-up. He tries to banish the awkwardness hovering at the back of his mind as he deadpans, “Yeah, so. No more cruddy noble parents blackmailing you from here on out. Sorry it took so long.” He pushes it into Sabo’s hand, and then levels a hard glare at the blond, “-although, Luffy and I would have gotten you out a lot _sooner_ if you’d just _asked_ us to, instead of sending that _bullshit_ letter.”

 _(-if he asked,_ Ace says unironically, but he knows his brother shouldn’t have _had_ to.

Not when Ace could always so vividly remember Sabo’s anger, his bitterness as he scowled at the ground, _“Even though I have parents… I’d always been alone!”_

Still. _If he asked._

When Ace thinks it often enough, sometimes it can make the guilt go away.)

Sabo stares at the goggles sitting his palm with a look of complete befuddlement, fingers held open loosely as though at a loss for what to do with them. After Ace mentions the letter though, an emotion too quick to name flits over Sabo’s face, and his hand closes silently over the old eyegear.

“That would have defeated the point of leaving in the first place,” he says blandly, and the utter dismissiveness contained in those words hits Ace like a slap to the face. “Besides, it wasn’t nearly as bad as you’re probably thinking. The noble life is called ‘privileged’ for a reason, after all.”

Blindsided, Ace openly gapes, with a vague sense of horror taking root in his stomach. “You’re so full of shit,” he remarks, as though in awe.

“I’m _only_ being honest-”

“Didn’t you say High Town was ‘sucking the life out of you?’”

Sabo pauses. Realization surfaces, and incredulity fills his gaze. “...you remember the _exact_ words of that thing?”

“Don’t change the subject,” Ace snaps, and Sabo’s lips twist.

“I was thirteen and being dramatic,” the blond scoffs. Then he gives a mean sneer. “Still, who would’ve thought _you_ of all people would be so sentimental as to read into that? I’m flattered you’d pay so much attention, Ace.”

Petty anger beats in Ace’s chest, and he clenches his teeth. But he reminds himself, this is Sabo. Sabo, who’s a bit of an idiot, a liar, and who Ace needs to _not let_ rile him up before he can figure out what the hell is the truth.

(Unless this is the truth?

Ace moves on from the thought quickly, not wanting to linger too long.)

“So I guess you were just ‘being dramatic-’” Ace snorts, “when you came to live in the Terminal? You were just ‘being dramatic’ when you swore to be mine and Luffy’s brother instead of your parent’s son?”

Sabo goes very still, lips thinning into two pale lines and eye gleaming darkly. Ace realizes belatedly that that may have been too low of a blow, but he doesn’t take it back.

A cold grin stretches across Sabo’s face. “You sure you want to hear the answer to that?” he mocks. “We were only kids when we made that oath, remember?”

(A flutter of uncertainty that does not belong. A wobble of doubt that comes unbidden nonetheless, like the foreboding ache of sailor’s bones in the calm coming of storms.)

_He just wants to cut me off again._

(But what if he has a real reason?)

Ace bites his inner cheek, and then growls.

“You don’t get it, do you?” he says eventually. His brother raises an eyebrow challengingly, but Ace only sees his stiff defensiveness, calculated and cold, and he is reminded once again of a shipwreck. Something lonely and ragged, but bobbing too proudly in the water. Ace hurts for him.

He lifts his hand slowly, then places it over his brother’s, over the thin fingers clenched so tightly over those old goggles that they’ve gone chalk-white. Ace’s touch makes the grip spring loose, a flower startled into opening, and Sabo blinks at his own red-marked palm as though in confusion.

“Your freedom is important to me too, Sabo.”

His brother flinches. Hard. “Ace-?”

“And if I’d known—well, I _should_ have known, honestly—if I’d known that you felt- that you _were_ trapped there…” Ace winces, not meeting his gaze and instead watching his reflection through the dark lenses of the goggles. “‘I would have brought you back home. I would have- I don’t know. Done something for sure. Gotten you out, somehow. And Luffy…” Ace swallows. His thumb grazes his brother’s knuckles. “Luffy always wanted to bring you back. Always said we should go find you, but I was the one that-”

“Ace, stop-“

“-that always said you were probably fine, that if you didn’t like it there, you’d come back yourself…” Ace swallows again, but it’s hard. There’s just something unreachable lodged in his throat and a sharp pressure in his chest and he almost can’t breathe with how heavily he regrets.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts, and it’s like letting air out of a balloon, but his chest still feels tight, “I’m sorry I didn’t come after you. I’m sorry I left you alone.”

Sabo chokes. Splutters, out of Ace’s sight.

Then he laughs wetly. “Who’s full of shit now, hm?” His voice, full of derision, trembles. “Trying to blame yourself for something as stupid as that…”

Ace nearly jumps when he feels a small weight thunk against his shoulder, but he feels the delicate quivering, the strands of hair, the cotton texture of gauze against skin.

He brings up his free arm and settles it around his brother’s back just as the first, warm tears start spilling down his collarbone, quickly followed by those rolling down his own cheeks.

“You can’t just _say_ stuff like that,” Sabo scolds in a strained, muffled voice, breath damp against his shoulder, “Not even your damn fault, it was _my_ stupid choice dammit, and I don’t … don’t even expect’ this, this _mushiness_ from _Luffy_ for god’s sake, how do you even…? _Dammit._ God, Ace, you idiot-!”

Something like relief washes through Ace, a dizzying momentum that leaves him feeling weak even as he pulls his brother close, and somehow this, and Sabo’s tirade, and this whole mess, all together…

It just suddenly, momentarily, hits him as so, hysterically funny.

He laughs, and he kisses his brother’s hair, and he whispers, “I missed you, Sabo.”

A choked whimper is what he gets in response, but it’s okay. He hears the garbled words that follow, and it’s enough to tuck away all his guilt for now and just smile.

#### .

 _You broke so easily,_ a voice snickers pettily.

 _Shut up, Shishou,_ Sabo retorts, closing his eyes and sinking into the terrifying warmth of his brother’s love. It surrounds him, makes him tingle all the way down to his toes, and when Ace pressed his lips to Sabo’s head-

Fuck. He almost hadn’t recognized what it was. And after so many years, why would he? His family repulsed him, he repulsed his family. If they ever embraced, it was only for publicity. If they ever linked arms, it was only to show cordiality between mother and son.

Never because they cared about each other, and Sabo had been more than fine with that.

But Ace… Ace holds him close, kisses his hair, makes him _cry, dammit-!_

He feels too much. Exhilaration. Gratefulness. Dread.

 _(Your brother doesn’t know why you really wrote that letter, Shishou_ reminds him, and it’s gentle for a chastisement from her. _He doesn’t know you for the one you are now.)_

He feels ready to explode from it all. Feels nearly trapped in his brother’s arms, wants to escape this overwhelming turmoil that makes his skin crawl from the unfamiliarity yet yearn so desperately for something past remembering.

It’s frightening.

He takes another shuddering breath against his brother’s neck, smells salt and smoke and warmth against his cheek, and when he feels Ace obligingly lift his chin and let him tuck his head close, Sabo wants to blather curses at him again because _to hell with you, no WAY were you this touchy-feely back when we were kids-_

But he doesn’t. He’s too much of a self-serving bastard for it.

Sabo bites his tongue. He know he can fix this. And he _will._ Later. But… for now…

 _Let me have this,_ he thinks, and he prays he will not lose it again before he’s ready.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wOWIE its been a whole month since i last updated whew i didn't even realize...  
> but hark! i reemerge! (for now :[ ) thanks for waiting! and for all the comments and kudos and bookmarks, y'all are the best!!! :D
> 
> several things of note-  
> a) special thanks to my queen, sesshomarusama3 on ffn.net for this chap! she pulled me out of my writing block slump and is so very sweet and supportive!! she's also an INCREDIBLE writer herself, so please go look her up!! if you love asl, i would especially recommend her OP titanic!au, 'take me to sea'. its BEAUTIFUL so GO READ IT
> 
> b) TAGS! BAD THEMES! i am dumb and not sure if im doing it right! if you feel uncomfortable, put yourself first!!!
> 
> c) this is mostly a warning for the end bUT HEAR ME OUT-!! I CAN EXPLAIN!! D:

_“Are you going to try and off yourself again?”_

_The blunt inquiry shattered the room’s silence with all the delicacy of a club, and Sabo felt his jaw clench before the words even fully registered._

_“Turn the page, please,” he gritted out instead of replying._

_His guard, the newest in a line of personal minders hired by his father, obliged easily, her hand flicking open the next page of his textbook without a word. It’s been about two days since Sabo’s… incident, but apparently even that was too long to postpone Sabo’s studies anymore. In light of his injuries though, his father paid his tutors to drop off the study material so he could read in private and commanded the guard to act as Sabo’s hands until his wrists healed._

_And of course, to make sure he didn’t do something stupid like try to reopen his wounds. He wouldn’t, but-_

_(cold floorboards against his bowed head, a sinister voice, ‘_ ** _for_** **_every pretty penny you cost me-’)_**

_-damn if he didn’t hate how they itched sometimes._

_“I’m just asking,”  his guard continued with a brazen shrug, “I’d appreciate knowing if I should be on the look-out for warning signs.”_

_“And I,” Sabo said venomously, “would appreciate if you’d do us both a kindness and_ **_shut up.”_ **

_The guard frowned, a contemplative slant in her brow. Then the look cleared, and she leaned back in her chair with a lazy creak of wood. “I’ll guess then!” she declared much too cheerfully._

_“Please don’t,” Sabo said flatly, clamping down on a rising wave of irritation in his chest. “You’ll only waste more air than you already have.”_

_The guard pretended not to hear him, and Sabo might’ve kicked her chair over in petty aggression if not for what came out of her mouth next._

_“I think you will,” she said, her tone kept light, and still grinning. “I think you_ **_will_ ** _try again, because for some reason, you don’t fear death—or at least, not nearly as much as you fear what you’d lose by avoiding it.”_

 _Sabo turned sharply towards his guard, eyes wide and wary. He had no idea what to call the emotion crawling down his back—not alarm, maybe closer to unease, a sense of disquiet that only ever came from realizing that what someone knows and what you_ **_think_ ** _they know are incongruent—but he refused to let the guard cow him, to let her believe he was the type to fold under the slightest breeze._

_Even though she was right. Very, very right, when she had no right to be._

_He straightened his back and sneered. “Oh what, does my father pay you to psychoanalyze me too? Provide therapy to treat my poor, delicate mind?”  
_

_The guard’s smile dropped. “You’re a kid,” she responded, and the neutrality of her face was betrayed by the tension in her shoulders. “And I just get a little concerned when a thirteen-year old kid puts a knife to their wrists.”_

_“Sure you do,” Sabo scoffed. “When the kid is under_ **_your_ ** _charge, and their deaths would be_ **_your_ ** _responsibility.”_

_The guard inhaled deeply, with the flaring nose of someone gathering their patience. “My job is to protect you-”_

_“Your ‘job,’” Sabo laughed coldly, “is to spy on me, report on my behavior, and to ensure I obey my father. Let’s not play at pretenses here.”_

_He hated the guards who tried that—all that shallow nonsense. There was only one thing they were interested in protecting, and it was always, without fail, their payroll._

_Oh sure, there were the rare glimmers of sympathizers: A man who hesitated to continue caning his palms after the strikes drew blood, even though Sabo hadn’t apologized yet for his misbehavior at dinner. Another who never reacted nor reported Sabo’s explosions of spiteful anger and noisome belligerence outside of his family’s view._

_(The former had quit the next day. The latter had been fired, eventually.)_

_But otherwise, they were all happy to discipline him according to his father’s wishes. Whether that meant boxing him in the ears hard enough to hear ringing for so many minutes, or locking him up in his room until his parents permitted him to leave, or keeping him from sneaking for food when he was punished with skipped meals._

_No one his father hired was ever here to ‘protect’ him._

_The current guard lifted her shoulders in acquiescence. “Okay, yes, that too was in the job description. Doesn’t mean I’m too keen on the prospect.”_

_“Boohoo,” Sabo deadpanned, unsympathetic. “I’m even_ **_less_ ** _keen.”_

_The guard snorted, and then went silent for a moment. Thoughtful. Just when Sabo was turning back to his reading, the guard said, “I’ll admit, I thought you’d just be another brat.”_

_“What, and you don’t think I’m a brat now?”_

_“Not the type I was expecting,” the guard shrugged. “But, granted, your father didn’t provide the most flattering description of you.”_

_“And how did he describe me?” Sabo asked, morbidly curious. He was fairly sure he could make an accurate guess—but for better or worse, he’d never had such a talkative guard to confirm with._

_The guard shrugged again. “He told me you’re a delinquent. That you were kidnapped for several years and had to be rescued from the Terminal when you were ten-”_

_Wisely, the guard paused. Her dark eyes flickered over the snarl sinking into Sabo’s face, and slowly she said, “...which was a lie, I’m guessing?” A glance to the windows, spilling pleasant afternoon light through the gaps of thick iron bars, and she gave a joyless, unsurprised sort of smile. “I figured.”_

_Obviously, Sabo thought bitterly. His father would never let the true circumstances of their family’s situation get out to every plebeian who passed through their employ._

_The guard tilted her head. “So what keeps you here?”_

_The question startled Sabo, and he bared his teeth, hackles rising, “What the hell do you think?”_

_“No idea,” the guard replied without hesitation. “Only that a couple days ago, it wasn’t enough.”_

_The floor screeched in distress as Sabo threw himself out of his chair, backing away, blood rushing, forearms stinging, and in his ears the humming mantra of ‘stop running, stop running, you coward-’_

_“Fuck off!” he hissed, and his chest pulled so tight, he thought his ribs would collapse in on themselves. “That’s none of your business!”_

_A curious light filled the guard’s eyes. Bright, and discerning, and giving Sabo a violent urge to tear those intrusive eyeballs straight out of her skull._

_‘Wasn’t enough,’ her gaze kept saying, ‘not enough, notstrongenough, notgo_ ** _odenough-’_ ** _but there weren’t clear words ringing in Sabo’s head so much as a terrible scrimmage ravaging in his heart-_

 _(Enough? Enough? They’re everything. Everything, they’re_ **_everything-_ **

_Because without them, he was nothing. Because without them, he wasn’t real. Wasn’t ‘Sabo.’ Only ‘the firstborn son,’ ‘the heir,’ a means to an end._

_They’re everything. He loves them, his brothers, his family, and they’re everything._

_But. Good memories honed hurts like whetstones. Wistfulness kept them bleeding._

_Luffy had always been right--loneliness hurt more than anything in the world. But for his family... he thought he could handle it.  
_

_Yet he was weak enough to slip once. He may not be strong enough to avoid slipping again.)_

_The guard raised her hands with blank-faced innocence, careful and slow. “Okay, kid… you don’t have to tell me anything. I was just wondering.”_

_“Then keep your wondering to yourself!” Sabo snarled, trembling, and he hated the roiling in his chest, tried to push back, back, back…!_

_The guard nudged Sabo’s vacated chair towards him with her foot. She waited, and Sabo stared._

_“Gotta get back to your reading, kid,” the guard reminded him awkwardly. Almost meek, compared to her irritating blitheness five minutes ago. And Sabo was still shaken, but he sat. Tried to read the next chapter of the ponderous ‘Compendium of Goan History.”_

_He lost count of how many times his eyes drifted over the words without picking up a single one of them. The guard didn’t say anything about it, merely picking up the textbook near the end of the hour and setting it aside in silence._

_Sabo stared listlessly at his arms. Hated how they itched. Itched like maggots were crawling within the cuts._

_I’m a bad brother, he thought in cyclical criticism. A selfish brother, starving more for his own comfort than the protection of those he cherished._

_He’d like to imagine—_ **_if_ ** _his brothers ever found out about this—that they’d understand, that they’d forgive… but he couldn’t forgive himself. His cowardice. His dishonesty._

_(His mind._

_Nothing had changed, in a way. He’d tried, he’d failed, and now, it might as well have never happened._

_Had he stolen that knife? Had he lived with two brothers? Had he said goodbye?_

_Maybe he had. Maybe he hadn’t. If he never talked about it, it became hard to tell sometimes._

_...Should he be thankful she’d brought it up now?)_

_Sabo jumped when a hand landed on his head. He almost threw it off, but he turned and looked up and he… didn’t._

_“So, you’re right,” the guard began, her manner once again light and whimsical, if only for show. “This isn’t any of my business. But I’ve been here for a month, and I’m not blind.” Solemnity shadowed her face, heavy and unnerving, and somewhere beneath the gray that fallen over Sabo’s mind, the blond felt uncomfortable. “You’re a fighter, kid. You’re not meant to stand still and take the hits, no problem.”_

_Sabo chuffed, quiet and distantly amused by what he might’ve thought sounded like concern, though he couldn’t muster the energy for a smile. He wasn’t sure why he answered her, why he entertained conversation when he’d suddenly like nothing better than to drop into bed and clock out. But, he opened his mouth. “Do I look that weak, even from the outside?”_

_“I’m going to pretend that by ‘weak’ you mean ‘tired,’ in which case, yes, you look fucking exhausted. Which, given you won’t leave a place you obviously loathe and only take petty potshots in retaliation, is understandable. Stupid, but understandable.”_

_Charming. “Are you going somewhere with this?” Sabo asked placidly, swinging his leg in an idle pattern._

_Silence. Then: “You don’t have to rebel against them, kid,” and Sabo, irrationally, felt somewhat… not betrayed. More disappointed. Until she continued, “You just have to destroy them.”_

_Sabo blinked, and… surely he’d misheard? But he glanced back at the guard’s face, and there was nothing but complete seriousness there, and he felt the first flickers of intrigue._

_“I’m… not sure I follow,” Sabo said quietly._

_The guard raised her eyebrows. “Your father wants to make you the most powerful man in the kingdom, doesn’t he?” She smiled, something thin and sharp and wide, and Sabo shivered as the air crackled like static around her. “That’s a double-edged sword. You just need to learn how to swing it.”_

_._

“...and I’m thinking I should send a few of the commanders into Paradise soon, yoi.”

Oyaji makes an inquisitive noise as he lowers his bottle. “Paradise?”

Marco nods, shifting to make himself more comfortable where he sits against the footboard of his captain’s bed.

“I’ve caught some nasty rumors of slavers establishing a route that cuts through some of our territories, yoi,” Marco explains. “Last communications from our protected islands were fine, but it’d be best to cut this operation down before they can get too comfortable.”

His captain snorts, his gaze ruminative. “It’s been a while since they were so bold,” he muses.

More like it’s been a while since they were so stupid in Marco’s not-so-humble opinion, but he brushes the thought away. Arrogance has never done anyone any favors, not even for veterans like him and his Oyaji.

“It’s probably just a new ring leader that’s getting too cocky,” Marco shrugs. “But if it’s anything to worry about, I’ll let you know, yoi.”

Oyaji pauses his drinking and looks askance at him. “ _Is_ there something to worry about, son?”

...Of course he noticed the catch in Marco’s tone. The blond’s not even surprised, but he’d had a vague hope that the man wouldn’t. Not to say he’s displeased about it; he’d just meant to bring it up later, when he had more information.

He’s glad the rest of the commanders aren’t here though; he doesn’t want this somehow getting back to Ace yet, and... it’s not as though he doesn’t trust his fellow commanders to keep their mouths shut, but he doesn’t want to throw around unverified information either, especially about something so... compromising.

Marco bobs his head in a so-so sort of way. “I’m not sure yet, yoi. I looked into the Outlook name recently.”

Recognition alights in his father’s eyes in the same moment there’s slight puzzlement. Oyaji has never been one to care for any man or woman’s history when it comes to those he claimed as his children, and for the most part, neither has Marco. Of course, if a new family member feels burdened by his or her past then they will gladly share the weight, but they don’t pry. It makes background checks a moot point.

Truly, Marco would have been content to wait until Ace felt comfortable enough to explain the deal with his nobleman brother, if ever.

However, something about the new kid has been bugging him.

Marco remembers the disgusting noble—Sabo’s blood father, apparently—that they’d captured and interrogated on the deck. The way he practically swam in his piss in fear, and yet had the nerve to spit with such disdain at Marco’s young crewmate upon recognizing him.

And wasn’t that a surprise. The fact that Ace’s brother was actually a nobleman’s son… It wasn’t a terrible thing, per se; their father had taken in ex-nobles without batting an eye before, and Marco is glad to now call several of them trusted comrades. If Ace claimed this one as a brother, then Marco had no problem believing he would be something a bit like them. Not to mention that the other blond had cared enough to keep Ace from getting crushed by a pillar, which by itself said good things about his character.

However, it was the older nobleman’s behavior that had first made the Phoenix’s instincts itch.

He’s well-aware of the distorted forms of “love” some upper class folk—or a lot of maladaptive parents, really—harbour for their offspring. Some uphold them to impossible standards to secure good fortunes. Some try to “fix” certain traits that don’t conform to the views of their societies.

Some believe that their child owes them loyalty and devotion simply for the right to exist.

It’s all sickening and immoral, but at least they’re usually subtle about it.

Yet that man—Outlook III. He’d been anything but.

 _“He’s my son!”_ the nobleman had spat, blustering, hat on fire though he hadn’t seemed to notice. _“I made him! I_ **_own_ ** _him!”_

In the heat of the moment, the nobleman’s egotistical words had pissed Marco off so much that he’d hadn’t given much a damn about the odd tone delivering them. However, several days of waiting for the kid to wake up and recover had given him ample time to reflect on the incident.

And looking back… Outlook had been outright overthetop about the matter. Loud, defensive, desperate. Insecure. Like even he wasn’t convinced of his own claim. And yet he’d been so incredibly insistent upon the point, even in the face of his possible (imminent) death.

Marco wasn’t sure what to make of it. Maybe it meant something. Maybe it meant nothing.

But his gut had told him to look, so he did.

Marco tugs at his anklet idly. “I’m not sure if the kid knows anything about it, yoi,” he frowns, “but the Outlook name is part of the reason I found out about that new ring in our territories in the first place.”

Oyaji’s eyes spark. “They work with slave traders?”

“Intel says the company started as a shipping business, yoi,” Marco says in lieu of an answer he doesn’t have. “It’s possible. The kid’s father certainly seemed like the right type of bastard to get up to underground slave trading, yoi,” Marco scowls. “But according to our sources, Outlook _Sabo_ is the one who’s directed the company for the last year and a half or so, yoi. There’s the possibility his father had been going behind his back, I guess, but.” He shrugs. “I don’t know, yoi.”

Oyaji hums, lips turned down in thought. “I heard the brat woke up this morning. Have you spoken to him?”

“Not yet. Ace was with him.”

No explanation needed there.

“Be cautious then,” Oyaji warns, and Marco nods. As pirates, destroying the slave trade isn’t anywhere _close_ to being their responsibility, but as a family, a good chunk of the crew is made up of escaped slaves, and they will never be able to forgive anyone who actively partakes in that trade. Yet on the other hand… they both know how deeply and completely Ace feels for the people he cares about—they’ve seen it firsthand in his devotion to the crew—and those people includes the young blond as well.

Ace would be devastated if it turns out his long-lost brother is a slave-trader now.


End file.
